Ask Don Miller...or other scatters hunters

[novacaine]

He can crank these wood calls out pretty quickly. The acrylics that he use to run would take him all day to cut on the lathe! Of couse it was automated.

One thing of interest that he pointed out to us- his tone board arch is actually 3 different arches. You have to look really close to see it but it's there. He said the 3 curvitures makes it a "Non sticking call".

[bpinson1]

I had a friend mention to me that he read a series of articles when he was younger (1940's or 1950's) about hunting in the scatters. He couldn't remember which outdoor magazine(f&s, outdoor life,orSports Afield) it was in but the series was titled "Miracle of the Scatters". He thought it was written by either Dr. Brister or Dr.Bright from Greenwood,Ms. Has anyone ever seen these articles? If have searched the web but i am not having any luck and thought one of you old heads may have had it passed down to you from family members. I am in the process of running down seasoned hunters of the area like Big Henry Flautt and others that may be able to lead me in the right direction. Any help will be appreciated.
Thanks

Bill, I'll I've heard about it but have never seen the article you are talking about. I'll check with some of the "old heads" that have been hunting there since the late 40's. Between Johnny Barrett, Frankie Tominello and Jack Heath I ought to be able to find the article or at least find where to do an archives search. I'd like to read the articles too.

[paraduck]

any thing new this week?

[Don Miller]

any thing new this week?

Yep, I just started a new job with Liberty National....you need some life insurance?

[novacaine]

any thing new this week?

Yep, I just started a new job with Liberty National....you need some life insurance?

Pduck-other than promoting Liberty National life insurance- a few of us are in discussion on data acquisition, archiveing, etc,etc. Everyone got busy over the last week so it will take a little bit of time before something new pops up.

[paraduck]

was a great thread didnt want it to die. Enjoyed reading the history yall found to share.

[Don Miller]

Novacaine is closing in on some good stuff about old locally made duck calls, old maps, old photos and old magazine and newspaper articles. This thread ain't dead yet.

[Deltamud77]

It would be great to have a qualified wildlife writer sit down with Mr. Jordan and others around the delta that still have memories of the good old days and write a book about the "Golden Years of Mississippi Duck Hunting". I would sure buy it.

[teul2]

It would be great to have a qualified wildlife writer sit down with Mr. Jordan and others around the delta that still have memories of the good old days and write a book about the "Golden Years of Mississippi Duck Hunting". I would sure buy it.

Sounds like a calling for MissedMallards to me.

[novacaine]

It would be great to have a qualified wildlife writer sit down with Mr. Jordan and others around the delta that still have memories of the good old days and write a book about the "Golden Years of Mississippi Duck Hunting". I would sure buy it.

But a video would be better!!!! Workin on it.

[Double R 2]

It would be great to have a qualified wildlife writer sit down with Mr. Jordan and others around the delta that still have memories of the good old days and write a book about the "Golden Years of Mississippi Duck Hunting". I would sure buy it.

But a video would be better!!!! Workin on it.

Agreed.

[blgros1]

Heck yeah, and where has he been with those stories??? Guess he's got a job now and doesn't have time for us. Good for him though

It would be great to have a qualified wildlife writer sit down with Mr. Jordan and others around the delta that still have memories of the good old days and write a book about the "Golden Years of Mississippi Duck Hunting". I would sure buy it.

But a video would be better!!!! Workin on it.

Agreed.

[teul2]

You ask for stories, I give you stories.

I'll let novacaine and crackhead give the credits to this story. I just got it in electronic text.

SCATTER- GUNNING THE SCATTERS
By : George G. Flowers, Jr.

Ordinarily the sounds of the Mississippi Delta gumbo mud sucking at our boots would have seemed loud indeed, but the incessant hail calls I quacks I and dabbling noises from thousands and thousands of mallards simply overpowered all other sounds. In addition to the mallards were sprinklings of blacks, teal, gadwall, widgeons, and wood ducks.

Then, as if on cue with the encroaching light from the east, wave upon wave of ducks rose from the expanse of drowned willows and cypress trees. The date was opening morning of duck season, and three of us - Bill Parker, Tom Heard and myself - were wading in for our traditional first morning hunt. Shock waves from the wings of the rising ducks could literally be felt on our cold-tinged cheeks.

As we approached our intended pothole, the schich-schich-schich of wings overhead grew into a crescendo that added the necessary adrenaline to our blood and quickened our mud- laden steps to our destination. The time was 6:15 A.M. - fifteen minutes' before legal shooting time.

Suddenly, our pothole was there Decoys were hastily placed and trees familiar from our past hunts were accepted for our blinds.

The time was 6:25 A.M. There were five more agonizing minutes 'til shooting time. With excited hands, I located my time- worn duck call. Tom Heard, a C.P.A. with a Natchez accounting firm, had unlimbered his call and produced the first pleading hail to the now breaking- up flights of ducks overhead.

A lone hen to my left responded and spun in mid-air to begin her characteristic circle. She glided into the north-westerly wind then started side-slipping, orange legs extended, toes outstretched, and skiied into the pothole on the far side of the blocks, approximately thirty yards away.

Three minutes 'til shooting time. The suzie shook her tail, stretched her neck high and quacked once, twice, three times -- no response from the decoys. She then nervously switched her head from side to side, eyeing the spread with apprehension. She backed for a short ways then swapped ends and started swimming away through the thick button willows.

Other ducks had seen her come in. A group of seven, led by an enormous black mallard, circled over a small cypress behind me with outstretched necks, the black led them around on a down-wing pass directly over the blocks. A young hen toward the rear of the group gave a soft hail. I reiterated her call and she peeled off, bringing two drakes with her. I quickly glanced at my watch.

It was exactly 6:30 a.m. and duck season was officially open. The black and the three others, two hens and a drake, couldn't stand the temptation and cupped back to the left and into the wind. I heard the sliding splashes of the first three ducks as they hit the water on my right. I was watching t he big black, about sixty yards out now, coming straight in. As I eased my safety off, I heard two other distinct clicks of safeties snapping off on Tom's Remington Wingmaster and Bill's Browning A-5.

The ducks on the water heard it too, and jumped into the air, sounding their distress quacks. The black, now about forty yards out, flared straight up. My Model 12 Winchester was on him though, and I squeezed as the muzzle blotted him out. The black continued to climb as other guns roared almost simultaneously with mine. As the black was getting a little too far, I swung on the next closest duck. It was a hen, so I moved to another but by this time, they were approaching safety through distance. I lowered my gun without satisfaction. ~Pom had collected one of the drakes that had landed near him.

"WOW, did ya'll see that black I missed after I shot this drake?" Tom shouted.

"What do you mean you missed?" Bill questioned.

"Guess what guys?" I responded.

Seven' ducks had come in and all three of us had shot at the big black. I really should have known we all would have shot at him as we have always placed a premium on the elusive and wary black duck. Only Tom was relatively happy with his fat drake.

"Oh well," Bill retorted, "there'll be other ducks." And, well there were that day.

Bill Parker, a civil engineer with the Corps of Engineers, had driven over from Tupelo the evening before with his family to my home in Clarksdale, Mississippi, where I serve as assistant director of the North Delta Planning and Development District - a government assistance .agency serving seven northwestern Mississippi counties.

The day before, Tom and his family had driven into Greenwood, where Tom's mother lives.

The three of us grew up together in Greenwood, and practically cut our teeth on duck calls and high brass duck loads. Following high school, we roomed together at Mississippi State University off and on while each of us tended to “do his own thing" - Bill with the Marines - myself with the Army and Vietnam - until we each had obtained our degrees, married and located in separate places. The one common denominator still prevailed, however, and each year we all knew we would be together at least once - opening day of duck season at McIntyre Scatters, twelve miles north of Greenwood, Mississippi.

There are no guides for the thousands-of-acres of the Scatters. It is simply a matter of wading in, boating in from public launch sites, or a combination thereof. We prefer the combination of boating and wading. We put our boat in on McIntyre Lake, just north of the tiny community of Money, Mississippi, motor a couple of miles down the lake and into "the Scatters" through a series of boat trails which have developed over the years. Where the trail ends and opens up into the scatters, we get into the usually knee-deep water, wade across a couple of submerged ridges, and set up about a hundred yards from the boat. In our experiences we have found that too many ducks can locate the best hidden and camouflaged boat or the best constructed and located blind, so we simply station ourselves in the thick brush and button willows surrounding thousands of pot holes that comprise the majority of McIntyre Scatters.

McIntyre Scatters is home base for many of the mallards in Leflore County , Mississippi, Which gets about 50% of the entire state's population of mallards each year, and possibly affords some of .the best duck hunting in the entire Mississippi flyway.

The ducks arrive each evening in small flocks and completely fill the air as they group and regroup into flocks numbering into the thousands to roost in this prime habitat. Each morning they again leave to feed but return all day long to rest and dabble as they trade around the area.

Increasing hunting pressure each year has tended to change the time-worn practices of using the Scatters, but the first day of the season each year always finds the ducks t here in almost countless numbers.

Bill had left his tree to retrieve Tom's drake, and before any of us realized she was there, another hen had located our decoys and suddenly dropped in. Seeing Bill, her exit was as immediate as her entrance had been and we let her go. With the number of ducks in the Scatters, the three of us have •had a long standing policy of never intentionally shooting hens. We fine ourselves an additional duck stamp for each hen accidentally killed (there have been a few accidents over the years - mostly from misleading drakes and getting the trail.ing hen). I believe that I purchased five duck stamps one particular • year in the past. Our biggest trouble is getting whoever shot the hen to claim her. Several times we have had to resort to coin-flipping to settle an issue - with much grumbling.

As Bill reached his makeshift blind, a pair of wood ducks .flashed overhead - heads dipping and repeating their high-pitched squeal.

"Mallards are the name of the game," Tom reminded us out loud.

As if responding to Tom’s statement, a group of about twenty red-legged mallards angled toward us on a low approach over the tree tops. Tom hailed them with his call, and I added a few quacks of a duck just landing amid other ducks. On they came. A drake replied to Tom's calling with a raspy, low quack - pause - quack. In unison, the flock turned downwind and below us. I responded with a come- back call on my aged Cajun call. The flight cupped and angled back upwind toward our set. Then they were upon us, dodging branches as they dropped through the trees On the far side of the pothole about twenty yards away.

Bill's Browning blasted first and a drake just over the water exploded.

My owe 12 gauge was in action and I folded a greenhead on my side of the pothole.

The flight was climbing rapidly now - straight up, as puddle ducks do. I chose another large drake and was about to squeeze as he folded from Tom's gun. I quickly moved to his companion and watched a few feathers fly as my shot sounded. At my next shot, the crippled bird crumpled and collapsed in a shower of feathers.

"Whock" was the sound of a mallard as it hit the water behind me, a victim of Bill’s autoloader.

Tom had gotten one, and Bill and I had collected two apiece. Tom had 'a bonus though, his was banded. After submitting the numbers to the Department of Interior, we wear bands on our duck calls as an aged general wears his decoration at a Veteran's Day parade. That band made Tom the leader in the duck band department. He now sports three, I have two, and Bill picks each of his ducks up by the legs, looking for his first band.

The next flight of ducks to buzz us was a tremendous flock of Green-winged teal. There was a sound like a jet as they dropped from high up in the overcast sky, zoomed by just overhead, dipped, raised, banked and swerved as if all were remote controlled by a master switch somewhere, and then were gone . From across the Scatters came a volley of shots and the teal were again visible - climbing up and out on blurred wingbeats.

Ducks were still everywhere, but fairly high now. Almost an hour had passed an we were halfway through our limits. Time for coffee.

Tom had brought a thermos of the hot black liquid to brace us against standing in knee-deep water in the 40 degree weather. Rain had been forecast but none had come - just a cutting wind that made your teeth shake every time you let yourself think about it. This is duck hunting, though, and one comes to expect and tolerate the undesirable.

Several flights passed overhead as we sipped the steaming coffee. We had made a couple of half-hearted attempts to lure them back, but to no avail.

Tom commented that it wou1d soon be time for the eight o’clock flight and we had better adjourn our reminiscent meeting. In the past, around eight o-clock there has always seemed to be exceptionally heavy concentrations of ducks coming back to the Scatters.

We took our places as the warm glow from the coffee began to fade all to quickly. A lone drake quacked behind us and Tom reacted with a soft hail. The duck seemed to spot the blocks at the same time he heard Tom's call and that was all that was needed. He cartwheeled and dove between Bill and Tom and almost hovered as he neared the water. At a distance of about ten feet, Tom completely decapitated him as he eased down.

After a couple of circles by several groups that could not be enticed any further, the distinctive sound of wings from high above caught our attention.

"The eight a-clock flight;" I heard Bill murmur.

There must have been at least a hundred ducks in the flight. Both Tom and I immediately let loose with highballs. The ducks were coming down. They started breaking up into smaller groups - five here – ten there - twenty • over there - grouping back up - breaking up again. Slowly they began a pattern of cautious circling .all around us. Hens were calling everywhere. One small flight lit on the water just behind us in thick cover. Another big flight joined .the melee overhead and broke up - coming down.

One large group of about thirty ducks was zeroing in on our blocks and was more responsive than the others. They attracted a few more and then they were on top of us, dropping in with more coming - ducks were splashing in everywhere. We were all holding our breath. Still more joined the raft. The pothole was full of ducks as was the adjacent brush and trees surrounding it.

"Now!" called Bill.

We all started shooting with confused ducks going in every direction. When it was over, we each had shot three times. We had four drakes down in the pothole. One was still flopping with his head up so Bill quickly scuttled him with another shot. Catching a cripple in the Scatters is difficult as there is just too much undergrowth, muddy bottom, and stump holes. The best policy is to expend another shell and finish the duck.

'Tom had only one to' go before the big flight had come in. Bill and I both needed two. Now, Bill and I had our limits and Tom still needed one.

With all those ducks and three now-empty duck loads, Tom had found three places in the sky where ducks weren't.

Bill and I picked up our ducks and eased over to Tom's tree.

"No comment and shut up," Tom stated, noting the grin on our faces and expecting the obvious.

"Aw c'mon, Tom," Bill chided, "those ducks flew off with their hearts shot out, didn't they?"

"You want some more coffee don't you?;' Tom asked.

"Possibly," was Bill’s reply.

"Then shut up," Tom reiterated good-naturedly.

“Here he comes Tom,” I noted as a lone drake winged his way treetop tall toward us.

Tom snapped the safety off, dropped his call and clobbered him at fifty yards, to complete his limit.

As we loaded the decoy sacks into our boat, the chill was again noticeable on 'the outside, but there also was a certain warmth within as more ducks continued to break up from high above and settle into the Scatters.

"Reckon we can get together again around Christmas?" Bill asked.

"I think so," I replied.

"Sure suits me," Tom added.

Well, maybe we would, maybe we wouldn't, but one thing was for sure - next year, on opening morning of duck season in Mississippi, we would be at our favorite pothole in McIntyre Scatters talking to mallards - lots of them.

As I said before, no guides are available, but anyone may put in from public landings on McIntyre Lake or in the Scatters itself and with just a little luck, be as successful as we are year after year. Mississippi non-resident three- day permits are available (non-big game) at almost any sporting goods store in Greenwood, and information about the Scatters is equally available from sporting goods dealers for free.

I would practically guarantee any duck hunter an 'experience in the Scatters as unforgettable as those we have accrued in the past years of hunting this wonderful wetland of a duck paradise.

[ScottyLee]

awesome read! i really enjoyed that

[novacaine]

Thanks Crackhead for supplying the story. I don't know any of these guys but there were a few Flowers families in Greenwood area back in the day. I know a Tom Heard who is with NRCS down in Madison and i wonder if this is his dad? Parker with USACE should be hard to run down. I wonder if these guys still have their annual hunt? It would be cool to see them at the boat landing.