That may be my least favorite noise in the world. I love hunting, LOVE IT, but that danged alarm clock has got to go. What's worse? That alarm clock going off at 3 a.m. coupled with the forecast of low temps of 50 and foggy. One day, maybe someone will explain to me how anyone can like 70 degree weather in the middle of December, because I don't see it, but every weatherman in Jackson is talking about "lovely temps".
Where was I? Oh yeah, getting up. I know it was a mistake, but I had to check the forecast one more time........maybe it changed? It didn't.
After running over a rattle moccasin yesterday, I gotta tell ya, I wasn't too keen on walking through a bunch of head high buck brush in knee deep water. So, I did what most folks do when there's something they really don't wanna do looming -- I tried making excuses. I admit it, I tried to find a way NOT to go hunting. Yep, sat right on my couch watching NFL highlights, sipping on a red Powerade and nursing a sore head and dry mouth, making some school girl excuses up. Fried duck, 'mater gravy and cathead biscuits surrounding by "Dickel and water" will do that ya know. But, true to form and knowing full well this was my last time for 7 days to "get out", I loaded the dog and headed out.
Did I mention the fog?? Well, suffice to say, this fog was the stuff that makes even the saltiest, Eastern shore lobster boat captain nervous. About thirty minutes into my drive, I really began to second guess myself. Wipers on, battling fluid somewhere between fog and an outright downpour, we finally made it to the parking spot.
Managed to struggle enough loading the dekes, dog stand and gun on my back to start sweating............start, but trust me, more was to follow. Made one last sweep of the truck, making sure I had everything a ducker needs to wack a duck, then reached in my pocket and grabbed the trusty compass. This compass would soon become known simply as "the basssturd".
Why a compass??? Honestly, several hours past this debacle, I STILL don't know. I'm hard-headed I suppose and choose to cling to what I perceive as "tradition"......as much as possible anyhow. I like wooden calls, simple jerk strings and Andy Griffith - sue me.
So I struck off in a southerly direction, trusting map and compass, and walked right to an area.......................just about 500 yards away from where I needed to be. In this heat with fog that clings to you and holds on, stifling every breath of air you try to take, 500 yards might as well have been 500 miles. My head hurt, my guts ached, and a hurling episode wasn't out of the question.
But, I traveled on, having got my bearings. Yep, just me and my dog..........uhhh, Gauge? Gauge, HERE!!!! "Now, where is that damned dog?" Putting it politely, Gauge likes to "range" if given the opportunity to run ahead. Calling it what it is, well, Gauge is a hardheaded animal.......but, I love him for it, and he came clamoring back to heel directly. Even he got turned around in this buck brush, beaver run hell we were in.
Got to "the spot" most likely 10 pounds lighter, set the dekes out, and tied four off to the jerk string, with mere minutes to spare. Shooting hour creeped up and overhead a woody blasted through the cypress trees. BAM!!!!!! BACK!
Seems to be a little consternation amoung hunters as to the value and validity of shooting a wood duck at first light: some do, some don't, but most "will if nothing's circling overhead". Now, I can't tell if the above answers what I would do, considering I couldn't see anything overhead due to that confounded fog, but my philosphy is pretty simple.......ain't much finer than a stuffed wood duck smoked slow, patted down w/ an orange glaze. Kinda a "bird in hand is better than two in the bush" mentality of suppose.
Maybe that shot woke up the woods, I dunno, but for the next 30 minutes or so, Gauge and myself were absolutely flogged by grey ducks. It was an all-out assult I tell ya. Most fell into the timber either "over there" or "back yonder", but we had enough that wanted to visit us to keep up busy. Even had a nice wad of mallards fall in out of the murk to finish my limit.
And, before you knew it, it was over. Way to quick. I mean, can't a hand enjoy a bit more of the morning considering the walk?
All told, Gauge brought back to hand a nice mix of woodies, grey ducks and mallards.......now, if he could just figure out how to carry all this crap out, we'd be set.
sorry bout the pic quality, that fog grabbed hold of my camera too i suppose, gator
great pic and story
