First pair of this particular morning was a pair of pintail. They turned on the mallard call and flitted ever closer to the decoys with a few light chuckles. I dropped my call to put my other hand on the shotgun and before I could say those two lil' words (take 'em) BLAMBOOMBLAM!!POWBOOM! two sprig laid belly up in the decoys. Only with my insistence did they let the ol' man shoot the next one!
Dad gets to carry it back to the truck too!
Something about tired trigger fingers and heavy straps makes them smile...
The only shot of the morning. But it was a big one. Had a lone spec work right in to the calls a little after shooting time. The entire time the bird circled, Duncan was saying "let me have him, I've never killed a goose". When the bird finally dropped the landing gear and came in, a single 20 gauge shot felled him into the decoys. Same pit Forrest got his first spec when he was Duncan's age.
A long walk in a downpour. They refuse to wear coats because too much bulk interfers with their shooting. We stayed les than an hour and were soaked to the bone when we returned for breakfast. The kind of hunt makes you appreciate the great ones. I was just proud to have two tough ones that kept their spirits until we got the clothes in the dryer, a pile of hotcakes and sausage.
This past weekend it was just Forrest and me. Between periods of light rain, we'd manage to pick up a few ducks. I left the blind for a minute and from a distance of about 150 yards watched as Forrest dumped one mallard with the first shot, the other mallrd with the third. Kind of moment you remember for a long time. We finished with a solid limit.
Good way to finish a weekend; great way to start off the rest of your life as a duck hunter.
