"Where it all began"-Story

[missed mallards]

THe grammer Nazi (my proofer/wife) hasn't read it, so enjoy the errors.

“Where it all began!”

Two seasons back my desire to chase waterfowl came to a screeching halt. I can remember that hunt like it was yesterday. Two blinds nestled together. Flooded corn in front. Decoys bouncing in the open water. Mallards flocking into the decoys like they were supposed to. You couldn’t have asked for a better day afield. Twelve hunters were lucky enough to take home twelve limits, so in all aspects it was deemed the perfect hunt. I don’t why but that morning did it for me. The rest of that morning was spent with me breaking down my shotgun, cleaning every nook, and placing it in the gun safe. And, that’s where its been held up for roughly two years. My desire to give chase just hasn’t been there and therefor I haven’t longed to go. Then it all changed. Literally, one day I didn’t care, and the next day I wanted to go! Of course, I would make this decision in what I’ve been told is the worst year on record for most everyone.

This change happened all at once, and completely random. I had been completely content deer hunting when my wife asked if I was going to hunt ducks this year. That was kind of out of the blue. Then, a long life friend asked if I wanted to go. Not necessarily out of the blue, but he’s been asking for two years and has received the same answer for those same years. Then, Kelly, a forum member on Ducksouth asked if I still had an interest in hunting over his decoy. Again, kind of out of the blue. All of this happened in a three day period. There could be some significance to that, there could not be, but for whatever the reason I reached out to an old hunting buddy.

It didn’t take long before the plan for me to hunt again was put into motion. It just so happened a few birds were taking refuge on my buddies father in laws place. Of course, it wasn’t just going to be an easy hunt. There were quite a few obstacles, and after discussing our options, quite a few more problems than initially thought. But, and that being a huge but, the birds were there. So, after a two year hiatus, I went to the shop and began the task of sorting gear. I found my old duck calls, restrung a decoy or two, and had my affairs in order in a short time. As I sat there that evening contemplating everything, I made one last little addition to the gear pile. I didn’t have the decoy to hunt over, I couldn’t take my family heirloom gun I wanted to shoot, but I wanted something small to add to the hunt. Nothing big, but a few hours later, a small duck tote was finished and my first attempt at anything with paracord was a success.

The irony behind the whole thing, I began hunting ducks in flooded rice fields way back when. A rice field was part of several things throughout my adolescence. The first time I had to leave boots because they were too heavy to move, rice field. The first time I stuck a 4wheeler and couldn’t get it out by myself, rice field. The gun that I brought back with mud jammed in every orifice, rice field. The levee that I didn’t see that allowed me a life lesson that my truck didn’t fly like the general lee from the dukes of hazard, you betcha, a rice field. Flooded rice was what I hunted over on my first guided hunt in Arkansas. The first decoy I tossed after a two year break, landed in a flooded rice field. A cold, muddy, wet, flooded rice field. Ah, it was like coming home!

I had forgotten how much fun the whole experience is. The small details that I have been missing out on. Those details that you have to live and be there to experience. Those subtle moments that bring a smile on your face. There isn’t anything like that of hearing wing beats in the pitch black darkness. The lone hen on the water somewhere beyond the decoys bouncing quacks for all to hear. Having the sun creep up just fast enough to shed light, but slow enough to keep you on edge for what will be. I can honestly say I had missed it. I missed watching the dog working, the calling, the shooting, and most all the comradery with a great friend. It was great to be back, and even better, having success. Although successful, I still very much dislike those large flocks of pintails that will drive you crazy. They circle, and circle, and when you have other ducks working, circle and disrupt them. Just saying.

The little duck tote I made worked out perfectly to carry the two limits out of the flooded rice. It had been a long time since I had partaken on a hunt, and the colors for which I have always admired where seen very vividly on that small tote. 6 different species of duck, with a random limit of specks made for a hunt we could be proud of. It didn’t matter that the water that had ran down our backs had now made it into our boots, or that those last groups slipped by. We were just happy to have been able to experience it all and enjoy it. From all reports of the area, that was a small feet. I guess in a way, it was funny how it all happened. I can remember walking away from rice fields cussing them for all they were worth. Today I welcomed the challenge and experience that only that glue like substance known as gumbo can give you. It was a hunt that made me remember where it all began, and why I enjoyed it so much. Hopefully, that little tote will carry out a few more straps of fowl before this season ends…. I really had forgotten just how much fun it all is.

[msudawg8087]

Excellent story as usual!

[sondance]

Glad to hear you had a good hunt. It's fun when it all comes together