He checks his watch for the thousandth time since first attempting sleep.
Five minutes. Close enough.
The older the he gets, the easier it is for him to wake up. Of course, it's also easier for him to shit his pants, too.
Swinging his legs off his perch, he takes a breath and shakes out the cobwebs. He's on the couch again. He's always on the couch this time of the year. It's a preemptive measure, one of the many he takes to ensure he does not wake his wife or kids up because that would suck...
...on many levels...
...for quite a while.
Still though, his back's in knots. He's lost count on how many nights since the season began he's endured the ill sleeping bastard, but it's in the double digits. He rubs his hands together feeling every bit of his raw, chaffed, wind-cracked fingers before looking with more than a modicum of aggravation to the coffee table. He glared hatefully at the now watered-down glass of bourbon. It had been neat, but at that moment, felt anything but. Smacking his lips, he became nauseatingly aware of the hair growing on his tongue.
Never shoulda poured that last one.
Running his fingers through his graying beard, he turns to the kitchen.
Coffee'll help.
Before he can rise and feel his angry knees bitch and moan, a whine from the other room draws his attention. The dog had heard his master's movement and knows it's time yet again. So, he gets up and feels his angry knees bitch and moan. A few seconds later, the dog's released to air in the backyard. He watches as the black ball of utter consternation lopes off into the darkness barely able to keep his joy in check. He smiles at the wagging tail which he knows is nothing more than the proverbial middle finger. That smile though. It was rich but also carryied an edge of sadness to it, and doesn't quite reach his eyes. He knows their time together is getting short. Too short.
I'd go with him if I could.
Gritting his teeth, he turns away, refusing to give the dark thoughts any purchase within his mind. Finally, he hits the kitchen, doing what was required, and after hearing the first blessed chirps of the percolating concoction, he begins the ritual repeated every morning. The pants that are pulled on over the long-handles are old now, with well over a decade's worth of abuse soaked into their fabric. One leg, then another, into a pair of pants that resembled nothing of the double-tinned pair of arrogance and condescension they were when he first bought them. The wax now dull, even missing in areas of the most heaviest wear, and they are covered in stains - blood stains.
These damned things are just reaching their prime. Fastening his belt, painfully aware that the buckle doesn't travel nearly as far across his waist as it used to, he jealously wishes he could say the same for himself.
Next, the he pulls his top on. It's nothing but an old, tan sweater that stinks of hard work, whiskey, and cigarettes; but, it just feels right and keeps the chill away, so on it goes.
Every hunt.
He then slides his socked feet into an old, comfortable pair of L.L. Bean duck boots and, looking into a mirror, smiles. He's heard all the comments from his friends and agrees. He does look like one of those candy-assed, snot-nosed, waxed-cotton and twill peddling catalogs puked on him...and, he couldn't give less of a shit.
Grabbing his lanyard with its single call and his gun, he heads out into the night, quick to peak over into the bed of his truck and go through the mental checklist.
Decoys...check. Dog stand...check. Waders...check.
He opens the back door to the backyard and steps aside, barely avoiding the black rocket of fur and hardheadedness that shoots past. As the dog undergoes his own front yard ritual, which is to say pissing on every piece of ground and sprig of grass from the driveway to the neighbor's front door, he glances skyward. Doing so, he takes a slow, contented pull from the coffee mug keeping his hand warm. Sleet's starting to fall, and he takes a moment to relish the stinging bits of ice peppering his windburned face. He doesn't understand the world anymore. Doesn't understand how a human can not live for the raw sliver of nature he's about to experience.
Getting snotty. Long drive on shitty roads.
It's the same thing every morning. He knows the drive is a long one and the hunt likely to be less-than-stellar, but the thought of going back to bed never enters his mind.
Never does. Like a pig at breakfast time...he's committed.
"Load up", he commands quietly, his first words during the entire process. The change in the animal is absolute. The dog spins in the direction of man's voice and trots stiff-legged back across the yard, its every step coming with purpose. An unyielding aura of confidence engulfs the dog as he leaps quietly into the bed of the truck and slips into his dog box. In a world of uncertainty, he knows his dog tips the scales in his favor, if only slightly. Quickly, he steps back inside for one final equipment check and to grab his thermos of coffee.
Moments later, his truck lights disappear around the corner and he's headed for parts unknown; another morning spent in the brisk wonderment that is winter with the world none-the-wiser of The Hunter's passing.
Thursday, November 19, 2015
Monday, January 27, 2014
One...Last...Hunt
One day I'll write something about it, but right now, it just doesn't feel right. Feels too much like an obituary.
Took the old man out for one last hoorah on the last weekend of season. We've both lost a step or three, but can still get it done when it counts.
Gauge, you've been my main man for nearly thirteen years. You've earned some couch time.
Love ya dude.
Took the old man out for one last hoorah on the last weekend of season. We've both lost a step or three, but can still get it done when it counts.
Gauge, you've been my main man for nearly thirteen years. You've earned some couch time.
Love ya dude.
Monday, January 6, 2014
The Skank
DISCLAIMER: I should probably go ahead and get this out of the way, if for nothing else than to say - I WARNED YOU. I started this blog two or three years ago, not sure which and it doesn't really matter now, with the simple mission of getting my story out, of saying what's on my mind, and hopefully, gaining and audience and adding to their happiness. At first, it was a blast, it was fun, the photos came and went, the stories much the same...and then, it became work. Real work. I literally found myself forcing an to find meaning on every sunrise. It was tough, made hunting not quite what it had always been, made it a grind versus anything like it should be. About the same time I was trying to get some more viewership, thinking that would make it more worthwhile. I approached a friend who also had a blog and discussed the situation. Long story short, he didn't want to link to my blog from his site due to content. At first, I was aggravated, but at the end of the day, he's my friend and the one or two references to drinking and the like were probably not the best thing for what he had going on. So, I got to thinking, Who in the hell am I writing for?
Answer, mydamnself.
After that, I started looking at my writing, looking at everything about it, and it dawned on me. I'm not a it's all about the sunrise type of dude. I'm me. I cuss, drink, fart, have fun with my friends, get loud, and at the end of the day, come home to my family and attempt some semblance of sanity.
Beyond this point you're gonna get me, for better or worse. No, it ain't gonna be Penthouse Forums type stuff because let's face it, describing the morning as it was hot and wet, is just weird...and wrong...and pretty damned creepy and you should be ashamed.
Answer, mydamnself.
After that, I started looking at my writing, looking at everything about it, and it dawned on me. I'm not a it's all about the sunrise type of dude. I'm me. I cuss, drink, fart, have fun with my friends, get loud, and at the end of the day, come home to my family and attempt some semblance of sanity.
Beyond this point you're gonna get me, for better or worse. No, it ain't gonna be Penthouse Forums type stuff because let's face it, describing the morning as it was hot and wet, is just weird...and wrong...and pretty damned creepy and you should be ashamed.
The Skank
For years I've written about a little piece of ground and water in glorified fashion. I've exulted this duck hole as near perfection personified and to be sure, the day God stood above the Earth and waved his hands over Grey Duck, he had his big boy pants and thinking cap on.
Watched over by towering tupelos and lined by merciless buckbrush, Grey Duck would have made Nash Buckingham speechless, and for years I tried to describe Grey Duck in Buckinghamian prose...and today, on January 6, 2014 at the ripe old age of 37, I'm done with that slant of colorful writing.
In short, Grey Duck's a bitch.
Decoys, waders, shells, dog stand, the list is long and distinguished, and makes for suffering. Grey Duck's over a mile of merciless, pitiless Hell. It's beaver runs and cypress knees, it's low-hanging vine and thorny bush, it's a wall of buck brush, a hat-floater, a soul-reaper, a chode-drencher...
A true, in the flesh, dictionary defintion of a dick-dragger.
About five years ago I came to the conclusion that Grey Duck should only be hunted on just the right kind of day. A day like we had today. Big front, strong north wind, sunny. Wanna know why I decided that? Because, I suck, I'm getting old and dammit, I've done enough to not have to go into that kind of Hell but a few times a year.
But on those precious days, few as they may be, Grey Duck becomes the drug, the last beer, the skank at closing.
Don't deny it, you had a skank. Every college student does. The chick - or DUDE, we're equal opportunity here - that you migrated to about once a month and found that for the next 4.6 hours, you just couldn't live without. She/he/they turned you inside out. Maybe that fluffy headed dude from US was singing 8675309, Jenny just right, who knows, who cares, but at just the right time you migrated back to the skank. The person (remembering, he/she) that the next day was just as likely to hook up with that SAE or Kappy Sig down the road or your own damned fraternity brother (never did this to a brother, but I heard stories) as she would you. Considering all that, every bit of it, you just sashay right up to her like a mule eating sawbriars, maybe even do the worm across the dance floor because you're drunk and looking for attention.
Meanwhile, your fraternity brothers are behind you going, "Dude, do not do this shit again....Do not do it."
But, you do, with a smile on your face and no regret.
That's Grey Duck. Pretty and available when the situation is just right, enough of a sure thing to make you go back for more...and more....and more.
But, I was 21 once and I remembered fumbling through life. Remembered wondering if anyone, anywhere was paying attention, and I'm sure that Grey Duck and everything that involves hunting the hole is God's way of saying, "Dude, I got this, just enjoy."
Grey Duck would probably be an easier deal if I asked anyone to go with me, but I have yet to know anyone who knew the secret handshake and afterall, she's my skank.
Until next time, Justin
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
The Choices Within
First off, I'd like to apologize for the lack of material posted over what's becoming nearly a year. The truth of the matter is that I started writing a bedtime story for my daughter, Lila, that turned into a 26 chapter string of closely related words that's taken nearly a year to see to fruition. I can't and won't call it a book until I figure out how to get this thing published, but considering I'm editing the last chapter now, I thought I'd take a break for a turkey tale or two. Hope I remember how to do this.
Yesterday's hunt began like any other. The alarm clock went off, I hit snooze. Ten minutes later, the process is repeated. Twenty minutes after my alarm first went off, I rolled out of bed and began making coffee and pulling on the boots. I was right on time, I plan for the "snooze" contingency.
There's little in life that's as good as turkey hunting. It can be both a solitary venture pitting you against the bird, or a social event bringing friends together in the "gang" mentality. Either way, I challenge anyone to find something "wrong" with it. Sure, there's snakes. And, of course, there's mosquitoes. And, well, the weather can be uncomfortable given it is often as hot as the burning plains of the Sahara and as humid as the deep, dark of the Amazon rain forest. And, the quarry itself is often a hard-headed lot, intent on offering just enough in the way of "he's coming, get ready" in order to drive the hunter to near certifiable lunacy.
You know, now that I write it down, turkey hunting ain't really the easiest thing to do. And, it shouldn't be.
Too often, people try to place the pursuit of the wild turkey into a happy little box, complete with sides and borders. They attempt to describe it in commercial ways of calls, and decoys, and camouflage, and guns, and shells.
We attempt to describe it with phrases such as "the first golden rays of dawn pierced the grey gloom of night's last goodbye". We put value and currency on the first gobble of the morning and the 500th of the day.
Well, you can take all that and push it in the garbage, thankykindly.
There is NO one thing, and sure things don't exists. This is an art, bottom line. As personal as a painter's palette, as formless as potter's clay.
The older I grow, the more I understand the less I know.
To that end, I can't define turkey hunting. It simply "is".
But, I've also come to the realization that there is one moment that makes turkey hunting what it "is", for me. And, it doesn't happen every hunt, and that's a good thing by my estimation. The fact I can't count on it is makes it so special when it happens.
I never really thought about it too much until yesterday, until right at the end, right before my trigger finger placed enough pressure on the trigger to start a chain of events that inevitably, for good or ill, ends the hunt. It's the moments right before that bitter-sweetness that completely wraps the hunt up for me, and hypocritically to an extent, puts the bow on the pretty little box.
It's the "choice", and at this point, it's all on the bird.
The "choice" is a time stopper. There you sit, staring down your barrel after a morning's marathon, after all the gobbles, after all the pleading yelps, after "the show", when time stops. Your vision tunnels, your breathing slows, and your heartbeat can be felt in your eardrums.
And, there he sits, just behind a pine tree surrounding by privet hedges.
You hear the spitting, you feel the drumming, you flinch then silently giggle at the gobble and there's little more to do...but wait.
It's on the bird.
He pauses, hesitating, he knows somewhere deep in his little turkey soul he's made some mistake along the way. He knows, the game's up. He feels it, and by right's, so do you.
He only has to take ONE. MORE. STEP.
But, he waits, he spits, he drums, and he struts...one last time.
Your arms tire, your backside aches, and you find yourself whispering, "Come on, just take that last step."
Then, as if in answer, you hear it. A spit, and a step.
And, then:
Just like that, it's over.
Yesterday's hunt began like any other. The alarm clock went off, I hit snooze. Ten minutes later, the process is repeated. Twenty minutes after my alarm first went off, I rolled out of bed and began making coffee and pulling on the boots. I was right on time, I plan for the "snooze" contingency.
There's little in life that's as good as turkey hunting. It can be both a solitary venture pitting you against the bird, or a social event bringing friends together in the "gang" mentality. Either way, I challenge anyone to find something "wrong" with it. Sure, there's snakes. And, of course, there's mosquitoes. And, well, the weather can be uncomfortable given it is often as hot as the burning plains of the Sahara and as humid as the deep, dark of the Amazon rain forest. And, the quarry itself is often a hard-headed lot, intent on offering just enough in the way of "he's coming, get ready" in order to drive the hunter to near certifiable lunacy.
You know, now that I write it down, turkey hunting ain't really the easiest thing to do. And, it shouldn't be.
Too often, people try to place the pursuit of the wild turkey into a happy little box, complete with sides and borders. They attempt to describe it in commercial ways of calls, and decoys, and camouflage, and guns, and shells.
We attempt to describe it with phrases such as "the first golden rays of dawn pierced the grey gloom of night's last goodbye". We put value and currency on the first gobble of the morning and the 500th of the day.
Well, you can take all that and push it in the garbage, thankykindly.
There is NO one thing, and sure things don't exists. This is an art, bottom line. As personal as a painter's palette, as formless as potter's clay.
The older I grow, the more I understand the less I know.
To that end, I can't define turkey hunting. It simply "is".
But, I've also come to the realization that there is one moment that makes turkey hunting what it "is", for me. And, it doesn't happen every hunt, and that's a good thing by my estimation. The fact I can't count on it is makes it so special when it happens.
I never really thought about it too much until yesterday, until right at the end, right before my trigger finger placed enough pressure on the trigger to start a chain of events that inevitably, for good or ill, ends the hunt. It's the moments right before that bitter-sweetness that completely wraps the hunt up for me, and hypocritically to an extent, puts the bow on the pretty little box.
It's the "choice", and at this point, it's all on the bird.
The "choice" is a time stopper. There you sit, staring down your barrel after a morning's marathon, after all the gobbles, after all the pleading yelps, after "the show", when time stops. Your vision tunnels, your breathing slows, and your heartbeat can be felt in your eardrums.
And, there he sits, just behind a pine tree surrounding by privet hedges.
You hear the spitting, you feel the drumming, you flinch then silently giggle at the gobble and there's little more to do...but wait.
It's on the bird.
He pauses, hesitating, he knows somewhere deep in his little turkey soul he's made some mistake along the way. He knows, the game's up. He feels it, and by right's, so do you.
He only has to take ONE. MORE. STEP.
But, he waits, he spits, he drums, and he struts...one last time.
Your arms tire, your backside aches, and you find yourself whispering, "Come on, just take that last step."
Then, as if in answer, you hear it. A spit, and a step.
And, then:
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Magellan Hunts at BEAVER DAM - Day 2
DATE: 1/19/2011
LOCATION: Beaver Dam Hunt Club (Triple Tree Blind)
WEATHER: 30's-40's, overcast with a NNW wind
KILLS: 19 ducks (again, mostly gadwall with some shovelers and ringnecks mixed in)
FRIENDS: Kelly Fortner, Kevin Graves, Hutch Hutchinson, Gill Jackson
We met at the Blue and White for breakfast on this day that was to be our second hunt. We enjoyed breakfast and again headed out towards the lake. When we arrived at the lake the routine was the same, transferring gear from the trucks to the boat. I stopped and just admired Hor’ace and Molly’s shack for a bit once the boat was loaded. Then it was off to the ramp and on to another days hunt. Once the boat was in the water and the truck parked, away we went. There was no fog today, just a quiet, peaceful ride down the lake to the blind. The only decoy that we added to the spread on this day was Magellan. He was placed in the water approximately 10 yards from the blind, with a bit of separation from the rest of the decoy spread.
We unloaded the gear and got into the blind. Everyone seemed to be a bit more relaxed on this, our second day of hunting. Gil wore one of Nash Buckingham’s very own neck ties. It was handed down to Gil from another outdoor writer that knew Nash many moons ago. The wearing of the tie was done to honor Mr. Nash, while hunting on his old stomping grounds.
Gil also shot an old Walter Betts side by side that was made in 1912, and was 99 years old at the time of the hunt. This gun was number 712 of 1000 made and was quite a treat to handle.
The ducks worked much like the day before, coming into the decoys in ones and twos, with most shots being at singles. On this day, Hutch seemed to be a bit off his game, missing a few shots and soon becoming the topic of amusement in the blind. Hutch is an old P3 Navy pilot and can take anything that can be dished out by a mere mortal, so he took it all in stride. Also, just as the day before Hutch would make some great shots later in the morning like Kevin did before him.
Our host Eric kept a watchful eye out for the birds all day each day. This was an open water blind and he had hunted it too many times before, knowing how the ducks can sneak up behind you at the drop of a hat. When he found a gadwall trying to skirt the decoys unscathed he would say “kill it boys, it’s in the wheel house.” I have to admit that he said this many more times than our group shot over the course of the two days. I also have to admit that on occasion some of the shots that he tried to call seemed to be a bit long to me. I know they were longer than shots that I normally take. So, I called him out a few hours into the hunt the second day and asked him to step up to the shooting rail. He did so, but you could tell that he was a bit apprehensive and felt the pressure of the moment. It wasn’t long before we had some blind/decoy shy gadwalls that seemed to know just how far to fly from the blind to stay out of harms way. So in like fashion, I said “come on Eric, those are in the wheel house….” he agreed, jumped up and pulled the trigger. Now, I would love to tell you that he whiffed and missed that ole duck only to be heckled for the remainder of the day, but that just wouldn’t be the truth. The truth is that Eric pulled the trigger on what I consider to be a very tall duck and he stoned that bird, just like you used to read about ole Nash doing on that very same lake.
The shooting was steady each day, although not fast and furious. This was a perfect fit, as it allowed us to talk about the lake, the history and those that had hunted it before us, quite frequently each day.
Then we would spy some birds that were looking and go to work on the calls finally doing a little shooting. The time spent became bitter sweet as the noon hour neared on the second day. We wanted to do a bit of sightseeing before leaving the lake on this day, so we decided to call it a day a bit early to provide time to do so.
Gil made the call and said, “Let’s give it five more minutes and then head out.” Well, it wasn’t but a couple of minutes and we had two gadwalls working and responding well to the call. They worked in nicely and we killed both birds. As everyone was about to pack up their stuff, I noticed a single bird, pitched and coming fast into the decoys from Hutch’s side. I told everyone to get ready and be still, letting them know where the bird was coming from so they would be ready. I called the shot with the bird back pedaling over the decoys at 15 yards. I saw that it was a drake spoonie and simply said “kill that duck.” Well they tried and at least a couple of shots were fired with no success. So, I shouldered my gun fired a shot along with Hutch, killing the bird. Now, I need to take time to mention that Hutch is a mallard purist and feels that spoonies are the rodents of the duck world. I very quickly called out “Hutch killed a spoonie!” He was quick to blame me, as I called the shot and told them to kill the duck on his side, all of which is true. I have to admit that I told a bit of a story in the moments that followed and said that I didn’t shoot, giving Hutch no choice but to claim the bird. I may never tell him what really happened, because it’s too much fun to watch him torment over having shot such a fine specimen of the waterfowling world.
We quickly packed up our gear, loaded up the boat and pushed away from the blind that had been our home for the past two days, the “triple tree.”
We immediately headed over to the “Hog Stand” blind, took some pictures and did plenty of talking and admiring. It was very easy to take a look back in time and visualize the gunners from the days of old that must have hunted in this place. After a brief time, we picked up and headed over to the “Handwerker Stand.” On the way, we took some pictures of the small shack at the water’s edge on the Owens property. As we approached the “Handwerker Stand”, you could tell that they were still hunting, as you could see the shooters in the blind. I hate to say it and sound like a broken record, but oh the stories that this place could tell. We took some pictures from afar and then headed off to the ramp.
Once all the pictures, smiles, hand shaking and storytelling was done, we headed up to Hor’ace and Molly’s shack. Once there, we stepped up on the porch got the key and entered the house. As one would expect, it was a very modest old house with simple lines and floors and three small rooms. We peered into each room, I guess hoping to soak in some of the history. Before leaving, we found an appropriate spot on the wall to place the picture of Gil and his fallen comrades. Once this last act was done, our trip had come full circle and it was then time to go. We loaded up, looked over our shoulders on the way out and all said goodbye, silently and with great remorse. I hope to visit this magical place again someday, however if that doesn’t happen, I can now say that I have hunted and killed ducks at the famed Beaver Dam Lake.
LOCATION: Beaver Dam Hunt Club (Triple Tree Blind)
WEATHER: 30's-40's, overcast with a NNW wind
KILLS: 19 ducks (again, mostly gadwall with some shovelers and ringnecks mixed in)
FRIENDS: Kelly Fortner, Kevin Graves, Hutch Hutchinson, Gill Jackson
We met at the Blue and White for breakfast on this day that was to be our second hunt. We enjoyed breakfast and again headed out towards the lake. When we arrived at the lake the routine was the same, transferring gear from the trucks to the boat. I stopped and just admired Hor’ace and Molly’s shack for a bit once the boat was loaded. Then it was off to the ramp and on to another days hunt. Once the boat was in the water and the truck parked, away we went. There was no fog today, just a quiet, peaceful ride down the lake to the blind. The only decoy that we added to the spread on this day was Magellan. He was placed in the water approximately 10 yards from the blind, with a bit of separation from the rest of the decoy spread.
We unloaded the gear and got into the blind. Everyone seemed to be a bit more relaxed on this, our second day of hunting. Gil wore one of Nash Buckingham’s very own neck ties. It was handed down to Gil from another outdoor writer that knew Nash many moons ago. The wearing of the tie was done to honor Mr. Nash, while hunting on his old stomping grounds.
Gil also shot an old Walter Betts side by side that was made in 1912, and was 99 years old at the time of the hunt. This gun was number 712 of 1000 made and was quite a treat to handle.
The ducks worked much like the day before, coming into the decoys in ones and twos, with most shots being at singles. On this day, Hutch seemed to be a bit off his game, missing a few shots and soon becoming the topic of amusement in the blind. Hutch is an old P3 Navy pilot and can take anything that can be dished out by a mere mortal, so he took it all in stride. Also, just as the day before Hutch would make some great shots later in the morning like Kevin did before him.
Our host Eric kept a watchful eye out for the birds all day each day. This was an open water blind and he had hunted it too many times before, knowing how the ducks can sneak up behind you at the drop of a hat. When he found a gadwall trying to skirt the decoys unscathed he would say “kill it boys, it’s in the wheel house.” I have to admit that he said this many more times than our group shot over the course of the two days. I also have to admit that on occasion some of the shots that he tried to call seemed to be a bit long to me. I know they were longer than shots that I normally take. So, I called him out a few hours into the hunt the second day and asked him to step up to the shooting rail. He did so, but you could tell that he was a bit apprehensive and felt the pressure of the moment. It wasn’t long before we had some blind/decoy shy gadwalls that seemed to know just how far to fly from the blind to stay out of harms way. So in like fashion, I said “come on Eric, those are in the wheel house….” he agreed, jumped up and pulled the trigger. Now, I would love to tell you that he whiffed and missed that ole duck only to be heckled for the remainder of the day, but that just wouldn’t be the truth. The truth is that Eric pulled the trigger on what I consider to be a very tall duck and he stoned that bird, just like you used to read about ole Nash doing on that very same lake.
The shooting was steady each day, although not fast and furious. This was a perfect fit, as it allowed us to talk about the lake, the history and those that had hunted it before us, quite frequently each day.
Then we would spy some birds that were looking and go to work on the calls finally doing a little shooting. The time spent became bitter sweet as the noon hour neared on the second day. We wanted to do a bit of sightseeing before leaving the lake on this day, so we decided to call it a day a bit early to provide time to do so.
We quickly packed up our gear, loaded up the boat and pushed away from the blind that had been our home for the past two days, the “triple tree.”
We immediately headed over to the “Hog Stand” blind, took some pictures and did plenty of talking and admiring. It was very easy to take a look back in time and visualize the gunners from the days of old that must have hunted in this place. After a brief time, we picked up and headed over to the “Handwerker Stand.” On the way, we took some pictures of the small shack at the water’s edge on the Owens property. As we approached the “Handwerker Stand”, you could tell that they were still hunting, as you could see the shooters in the blind. I hate to say it and sound like a broken record, but oh the stories that this place could tell. We took some pictures from afar and then headed off to the ramp.
We loaded the boat, admired the ole cypress tree, took some more pictures and headed up the hill. On this day, we took some pictures against the board of fame, asking our host Eric to join us for the photos.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
"Magellan Hunts at BEAVER DAM"
As Magellan's migration enters the home stretch, I wanted to take a few seconds and impress upon you (the reader) what was accomplished by a single decoy and a whole bunch of friends. The ugly decoy known as Magellan started the season on a good ole Southern early season teal hunt. The hunt is a highlight of my year as many of my good friends get together at Willow Break to socialize the night before. Everyone chips in for the pot luck social, typically several of us embibe a bit too much in libations, we definitely eat too much and a few end up blowing duck calls ALL NIGHT LONG. It's a good time that I make a point to not miss. The teal weren't there in great numbers, though a few were killed, but no one cares...and, that's the beauty of hunting and the friendships I've gained over the years.
After that, Magellan headed to North Dakota with a group of friends from Georgia that go every year. Shortly thereafter, he headed to Missouri with a set of friends that make that trip every year. When the seasons got cranking in Mississippi, Arkansas, and Louisianna, the dude hunted more days than not. You've read up to this point about locations, camps, food and fellowship, weather, hardships and ducks kills. But, do you know the one "theme" that has rung true this whole time that I'm not sure has been pointed out enough? Magellan never (NOT ONCE) went on a hunt that wasn't truly important to a group of FRIENDS.
Be it a long, arduous trip to North Dakota or a simple walk from the truck to the pit at L'anguille Lounge Duck Club and everywhere and every circumstance in between, showcasing the hunts among friends has been the single most important job Magellan had last year.
While sunrises, wet dogs, camp food, cold beer and warm whiskey, calls, decoys and killing ducks may be the ties that bind, truly, friends are the glue that hold it together.
The last several hunts you'll read about are very special in many ways. You're going to read about some very storied hunting camps such as Beaver Dam and Double Cypress and everything that goes with hunting there. But, you're also going to read about friends that hunt together everyday and have for over a decade. You're going to read about fathers and sons, fathers and daughters, and grownups taking out the youth. New friends and old, sharing the one thing we have in common no matter the age or station on life - our love of the hunt and our appreciation for our friends.
DATE: 1/18
WHERE: Beaver Dam Hunt Club, "Triple Tree Blind"
WEATHER: temp mid-40's, overcast, little wind and foggy
FRIENDS: Kelly Fortner, Kevin Graves, Hutch Hutchinson and Gill Jackson
KILLS: 19 ducks (mostly gadwall with some mallards, shovelers and ring necks also)
We arrived in Tunica, MS the evening of January 17, 2011. Gil drove down from Lebanon, TN and met me at the house, from which we loaded up and headed South. Kevin came over from Arkansas and met us a little later, just in time for dinner. We followed the local’s advice and ate at the Hollywood Café, a small local restaurant that is known for inventing the fried dill pickle. I love the little places that have the local flavor and this one did not disappoint, it was great! This was an old building that showed the exterior brick on the interior walls, this always adds quite a bit of character. The food and atmosphere are unmatched and yes, I would recommend the fried dill pickles. We turned in for the evening fairly early; although I have to admit I didn’t get much sleep if any due to the anticipation of the hunts over the next two days.
When the alarm clock went off, I was wide awake just waiting for it to sound. We jumped up and went to action, getting ready for the trip of a lifetime. We met Eric (our guide) and the fourth member of our hunting party Hutch, at the famous Blue and White restaurant in Tunica, MS.
We soon left the Blue and White and headed out towards the most storied of hunting grounds, Beaver Dam Lake. We pulled up and quickly transferred gear from the truck to the boat and headed down to the ramp. On the walk down the hill you could see the sign, “Dr. Chubby’s Dock” it was a pretty magical moment, one in which it all started to sink in, we were really going to get to hunt at Beaver Dam Lake.
There was a bit of fog on this morning and it made for a magical ride across the lake to the blind. The dense air almost made you feel as if you were surrounded by the hunters of old that were in so many stories about this place.
We pulled up to the blind and placed out the decoys. First, we gently placed the mallard decoy from Wapanocca Hunting Club that was used by Nash Buckingham himself. Second, we placed the pintail from Beaver Dam Lake in the water; this decoy belonged to Dr. Chubby and was hunted over by both him and Nash Buckingham. Lastly, we placed Magellan in the water beside the other two decoys with so much hunting history and so many stories to tell. We then eased the boat away from the decoys and got into the blind. Looking out across the lake in the fog was a beautiful sight. It was thick enough to make the air seem heavy but just light enough to allow you to see the age old cypress trees and the saw grass on the far bank.
Hutch and Kevin were on the corners with Gil and I in the middle and Eric stood behind us with a watchful eye, knowing what to expect. I felt like a kid on Christmas, with such anticipation sitting there hearing the birds before we could see them and then watching the lake come to life as the sun began to rise. We soon had a gadwall drake, drift in on Hutch’s side and in quick fashion he dispatched the bird (one shot, one kill). Wow, the pressure was lifted; we had drawn blood in such a historical place. Now, I didn’t shoot that first duck, but I was certainly filled with just as much pride as ole Hutch was for sure. As the morning wore on, the fog lifted and there were plenty of birds in the sky on several occasions. I quite often, found myself thinking “we are hunting Beaver Dam Lake” and stopping to enjoy the moment. Kevin struggled with his shooting that day; however I must admit I was glad he was on the corner and not me. Mainly because it was plenty of fun making fun of him and as you know, you gotta have some fun in the duck blind! Just for the record and to clear Kevin’s good name, he made some nice shots a little later in the day; guess it took some time to shake the nerves.
All the fun wasn’t poked at Kevin, there was a matter of a bet that Gill made with an Oregon fan earlier in the year concerning the Oregon vs. Tennessee football game. Well, needless to say Tennessee lost (I love saying that, being an Alabama fan) and Gill had to wear an Oregon hat in the duck blind sometime this season. He decided that there was no better time to do so than our trip to Beaver Dam Lake. This would be an honorable way to settle the bet and the debt that was owed. So, he put on the most awful looking skull cap you have ever seen. It was black, with orange flames all the way around. Then there was the Oregon “O” with the Oregon duck bursting out of the “O.” Wow, this thing had to be the most disgraceful hat ever worn at such a storied hunting club. As much as I feared it would, the hat didn’t hurt our hunting; heck maybe the ducks even liked it a little.
We all killed a few ducks, missing plenty of shots individually and as a group and made a few great shots too. The birds were killed mostly as singles; however there were a couple of doubles killed that day. The big groups just didn’t seem to want to work on this day. This afforded everyone the ability to take individual shots and kill em the way they should be killed. The rule of the lake is that all boats have to be headed to the dock by 12pm. As the time approached 12pm, we had killed a total of 19 ducks, consisting of gadwall, mallards and a ring neck. To be honest, that ole ring neck was one of the nicest working ducks of the entire day. He buzzed down the lake at mach III, and then put down the landing gear while approaching the decoy spread. He pitched and rocked back and forth just like divers do and I shouldered my shotgun and put him down at about 15 yards. Now, this was no “Bo Whoop”, but it gets the job done most of the time.
As we headed into the dock, with the fog now lifted it was as if you were seeing everything for the first time. I quickly noticed an old shack at the water’s edge of the Owens property. This was a very small wooden shack with a brick chimney, man I sure wish the walls of that place could talk and I could sit in on the conversations of old that were had in such a place.
It was all too easy to be taken back to a simpler time in the very same place, a time when men hunted in proper attire, not all this new fancy camo that we use today. As we neared the dock, you could see the remains of the massive ole cypress tree that we have all seen in so many pictures. It had been struck by lightning and given up the fight a few years back. All that is left is a very impressive stump that stands approximately 12 feet tall and 4 feet wide with the remainder of the tree on the ground and in the yard about 30 feet from the water’s edge.
Once the boat was loaded, we quickly walked up on “Dr. Chubby’s Dock” and took some pictures, you know, to have for the memories. Once that was done, we headed up the hill and got a good look at Hor’ ace and Molly’s old shack. This is a very modest old little building with what appeared to be three rooms. Again, you knew this old structure had so much history to share.
We placed all three decoys on the porch and took a picture. Man, magellan couldn’t have been in better company with two decoys that were hunted over by Nash Buckingham, sitting on Hor’ace and Molly’s porch!
We took plenty of pictures, some with the ducks on the board of fame.
Before leaving, we were able to meet the property care taker. Gil told him that he had an unusual request but one that he hoped would be understood. Gil had a picture of himself and two of his hunting buddies that had passed away in recent years. They were never able to hunt Beaver Dam Lake, although the trio had certainly talked about doing so in years past. Gil wanted to leave the picture with his friends there on the property somewhere, simply placing it behind a lose board or under a rock. Well, the old care taker said, I can do you one better and he most certainly did. He told Gil to get a picture frame for the picture and if he did, he could hang the picture on the wall in Hor’ace and Molly’s shack. Gil was blown away with such a proposal and quickly accepted and gave a very heartfelt thank you. I couldn’t have scripted it better myself, a wonderful day hunting spent with great folks in such a historical place. This is one hunting trip that will not soon be forgotten.
After that, Magellan headed to North Dakota with a group of friends from Georgia that go every year. Shortly thereafter, he headed to Missouri with a set of friends that make that trip every year. When the seasons got cranking in Mississippi, Arkansas, and Louisianna, the dude hunted more days than not. You've read up to this point about locations, camps, food and fellowship, weather, hardships and ducks kills. But, do you know the one "theme" that has rung true this whole time that I'm not sure has been pointed out enough? Magellan never (NOT ONCE) went on a hunt that wasn't truly important to a group of FRIENDS.
Be it a long, arduous trip to North Dakota or a simple walk from the truck to the pit at L'anguille Lounge Duck Club and everywhere and every circumstance in between, showcasing the hunts among friends has been the single most important job Magellan had last year.
While sunrises, wet dogs, camp food, cold beer and warm whiskey, calls, decoys and killing ducks may be the ties that bind, truly, friends are the glue that hold it together.
The last several hunts you'll read about are very special in many ways. You're going to read about some very storied hunting camps such as Beaver Dam and Double Cypress and everything that goes with hunting there. But, you're also going to read about friends that hunt together everyday and have for over a decade. You're going to read about fathers and sons, fathers and daughters, and grownups taking out the youth. New friends and old, sharing the one thing we have in common no matter the age or station on life - our love of the hunt and our appreciation for our friends.
DATE: 1/18
WHERE: Beaver Dam Hunt Club, "Triple Tree Blind"
WEATHER: temp mid-40's, overcast, little wind and foggy
FRIENDS: Kelly Fortner, Kevin Graves, Hutch Hutchinson and Gill Jackson
KILLS: 19 ducks (mostly gadwall with some mallards, shovelers and ring necks also)
We arrived in Tunica, MS the evening of January 17, 2011. Gil drove down from Lebanon, TN and met me at the house, from which we loaded up and headed South. Kevin came over from Arkansas and met us a little later, just in time for dinner. We followed the local’s advice and ate at the Hollywood Café, a small local restaurant that is known for inventing the fried dill pickle. I love the little places that have the local flavor and this one did not disappoint, it was great! This was an old building that showed the exterior brick on the interior walls, this always adds quite a bit of character. The food and atmosphere are unmatched and yes, I would recommend the fried dill pickles. We turned in for the evening fairly early; although I have to admit I didn’t get much sleep if any due to the anticipation of the hunts over the next two days.
When the alarm clock went off, I was wide awake just waiting for it to sound. We jumped up and went to action, getting ready for the trip of a lifetime. We met Eric (our guide) and the fourth member of our hunting party Hutch, at the famous Blue and White restaurant in Tunica, MS.
We soon left the Blue and White and headed out towards the most storied of hunting grounds, Beaver Dam Lake. We pulled up and quickly transferred gear from the truck to the boat and headed down to the ramp. On the walk down the hill you could see the sign, “Dr. Chubby’s Dock” it was a pretty magical moment, one in which it all started to sink in, we were really going to get to hunt at Beaver Dam Lake.
There was a bit of fog on this morning and it made for a magical ride across the lake to the blind. The dense air almost made you feel as if you were surrounded by the hunters of old that were in so many stories about this place.
We pulled up to the blind and placed out the decoys. First, we gently placed the mallard decoy from Wapanocca Hunting Club that was used by Nash Buckingham himself. Second, we placed the pintail from Beaver Dam Lake in the water; this decoy belonged to Dr. Chubby and was hunted over by both him and Nash Buckingham. Lastly, we placed Magellan in the water beside the other two decoys with so much hunting history and so many stories to tell. We then eased the boat away from the decoys and got into the blind. Looking out across the lake in the fog was a beautiful sight. It was thick enough to make the air seem heavy but just light enough to allow you to see the age old cypress trees and the saw grass on the far bank.
All the fun wasn’t poked at Kevin, there was a matter of a bet that Gill made with an Oregon fan earlier in the year concerning the Oregon vs. Tennessee football game. Well, needless to say Tennessee lost (I love saying that, being an Alabama fan) and Gill had to wear an Oregon hat in the duck blind sometime this season. He decided that there was no better time to do so than our trip to Beaver Dam Lake. This would be an honorable way to settle the bet and the debt that was owed. So, he put on the most awful looking skull cap you have ever seen. It was black, with orange flames all the way around. Then there was the Oregon “O” with the Oregon duck bursting out of the “O.” Wow, this thing had to be the most disgraceful hat ever worn at such a storied hunting club. As much as I feared it would, the hat didn’t hurt our hunting; heck maybe the ducks even liked it a little.
We all killed a few ducks, missing plenty of shots individually and as a group and made a few great shots too. The birds were killed mostly as singles; however there were a couple of doubles killed that day. The big groups just didn’t seem to want to work on this day. This afforded everyone the ability to take individual shots and kill em the way they should be killed. The rule of the lake is that all boats have to be headed to the dock by 12pm. As the time approached 12pm, we had killed a total of 19 ducks, consisting of gadwall, mallards and a ring neck. To be honest, that ole ring neck was one of the nicest working ducks of the entire day. He buzzed down the lake at mach III, and then put down the landing gear while approaching the decoy spread. He pitched and rocked back and forth just like divers do and I shouldered my shotgun and put him down at about 15 yards. Now, this was no “Bo Whoop”, but it gets the job done most of the time.
As we headed into the dock, with the fog now lifted it was as if you were seeing everything for the first time. I quickly noticed an old shack at the water’s edge of the Owens property. This was a very small wooden shack with a brick chimney, man I sure wish the walls of that place could talk and I could sit in on the conversations of old that were had in such a place.
It was all too easy to be taken back to a simpler time in the very same place, a time when men hunted in proper attire, not all this new fancy camo that we use today. As we neared the dock, you could see the remains of the massive ole cypress tree that we have all seen in so many pictures. It had been struck by lightning and given up the fight a few years back. All that is left is a very impressive stump that stands approximately 12 feet tall and 4 feet wide with the remainder of the tree on the ground and in the yard about 30 feet from the water’s edge.
Once the boat was loaded, we quickly walked up on “Dr. Chubby’s Dock” and took some pictures, you know, to have for the memories. Once that was done, we headed up the hill and got a good look at Hor’ ace and Molly’s old shack. This is a very modest old little building with what appeared to be three rooms. Again, you knew this old structure had so much history to share.
We placed all three decoys on the porch and took a picture. Man, magellan couldn’t have been in better company with two decoys that were hunted over by Nash Buckingham, sitting on Hor’ace and Molly’s porch!
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Magellan Hits...a Goose Field???
Before Magellan made the snow goose hunt with Sam, he hunted a bit north of Vicksburg with Sam Pierce, Brian Vickers, and Michael Stennet. According to the journal entry, there were plenty of birds high, but the high winds and below freezing temps kept them from landing. They managed a hen shoveler and hen mallard:
After that, he hunted with Sam Pierce and Ryan Provance just south of Vicksburg. Again, the journal reads "froze out", so I'm going to have to get some explanation on this photo:
After a couple of hard hunts, Sam decides to do something a bit unorthodox - hunt a cork mallard in a dry field for snow geese. Below is the account:
DATE: 1/13/2011
LOCATION: Money, MS
WEATHER: 17 degrees, clear, North wind at 6 mph
FRIENDS: Keith Upchurch, Cotton Eastwood, A. Bennett, Sam Pierce and 7 others
KILLS: 62 total, mix of snows, blues, Ross'
After poor hunting the previous few days, we decided to switch species. Cold weather had the entire Mississippi delta locked up with ice, and without a deep brake to hunt, we knew things weren't going to change anytime soon. There were 3 large flocks of snow geese using a field near Money, MS, and Chuck had been patterning them over the past few weeks. All 3 flocks were huge, numbering well over 150,000 geese combined. We felt confident that setting up on the ridge of the wheat field these 3 flocks had been frequenting would give us a chance at a good shoot. All 3 flocks were roosting within one mile of this field. We planned to set out a spread of exactly 1,000 decoys composed of rags, socks, and shells. Now, this is no easy feat. Especially when it’s 16 degrees and a hammer is needed to stake each sock in the frozen ground. But, by the headlights of our trucks, urged on by the honking and cackling of 150,000 geese as a background beat, 10 men made short work of this spread. We strategically placed ourselves throughout the spread in pairs. Three dogs were on this adventure with us: my young dog Cowboy, Chuck’s dog Luke, and another small black female lab. As we settled in to our respective spots we covered our bodies with white sheets. Strips of these sheets were used in a bandana-like fashion to cover our faces. We lay on the frozen ground quietly talking with anticipation and speculating about what was about to take place. I was on the east side of the spread, at the crest of the slight ridge in the field. Magellan had taken his place about 15 feet directly in front of me. In the dawn’s light, he was but a small dark spot among the 1,000 white strangers posed around him.
The smallest flock was roosted to the north and was the first to come off roost. Due to the north wind, this flock was not expected to decoy well. As they neared, the calling fired up. The flock of over 20,000 geese overhead soon drowned our honking out. Even though we were not expecting a great showing from this particular flock, we still managed to turn several singles, which were downed and retrieved in short time. Soon after, the second flock to the west came off roost. This flock made short work of closing the distance between us. This flock was expected to decoy better than the first. The majority of the flock stayed wide as they swung over our heads and downwind. A small group of 10 broke off and locked up on the east side of the spread. Keith, Asa, and I took 6 of the 10. Most of the geese circled wide and stayed out of range. Coaxed by our calls and our enormous spread, we occasionally pulled groups of 10-15 within range and were able to pick up a total of 22 out of this group before they became wise enough to look for another spot to feed. After several minutes of retrieving, we heard the southeastern flock begin to rise. This was the largest flock, numbering well over 100,000 birds and also was also the closest. Even from a half-mile away there was still a thunderous roar as this flock unearthed itself from the roost. I will never forget the sight and sound of this flock coming up over the tree line. The sky darkened and the sound was deafening. Due to their position relative to the wind, these geese were expected to decoy beautifully. They did not disappoint. Shifting to a downwind approach as soon as the lead group saw the spread, they began to circle. In a matter of minutes there were well over 50,000 geese forming a tornado over our heads. Soon a few began to pitch down into our spread. One Ross goose pitched down directly in front of us… I mean it landed within 10 feet of Keith. The birds continued to pitch in, and the flock as a whole was setting up for a final approach. Someone from the back called the shot, “Get ‘em boys!” Ten guns came to life as one, spouting fire and lead and geese began to fall from the sky. As I finished up my third shot, I looked around to watch the show. Geese were falling from the sky over the entire spread. It was literally raining geese. 27 geese were downed during the initial volley. Five more were picked off as they attempted to make a hasty getaway. A few smaller groups returned over the next hour, offering chances at singles and doubles. By the end of the morning we had bagged 62 geese. As we all gathered around to recall the more exciting moments of the morning, I overheard someone say “Well, I guess now we gotta pick up all these decoys”.
After a couple of hard hunts, Sam decides to do something a bit unorthodox - hunt a cork mallard in a dry field for snow geese. Below is the account:
DATE: 1/13/2011
LOCATION: Money, MS
WEATHER: 17 degrees, clear, North wind at 6 mph
FRIENDS: Keith Upchurch, Cotton Eastwood, A. Bennett, Sam Pierce and 7 others
KILLS: 62 total, mix of snows, blues, Ross'
The smallest flock was roosted to the north and was the first to come off roost. Due to the north wind, this flock was not expected to decoy well. As they neared, the calling fired up. The flock of over 20,000 geese overhead soon drowned our honking out. Even though we were not expecting a great showing from this particular flock, we still managed to turn several singles, which were downed and retrieved in short time. Soon after, the second flock to the west came off roost. This flock made short work of closing the distance between us. This flock was expected to decoy better than the first. The majority of the flock stayed wide as they swung over our heads and downwind. A small group of 10 broke off and locked up on the east side of the spread. Keith, Asa, and I took 6 of the 10. Most of the geese circled wide and stayed out of range. Coaxed by our calls and our enormous spread, we occasionally pulled groups of 10-15 within range and were able to pick up a total of 22 out of this group before they became wise enough to look for another spot to feed. After several minutes of retrieving, we heard the southeastern flock begin to rise. This was the largest flock, numbering well over 100,000 birds and also was also the closest. Even from a half-mile away there was still a thunderous roar as this flock unearthed itself from the roost. I will never forget the sight and sound of this flock coming up over the tree line. The sky darkened and the sound was deafening. Due to their position relative to the wind, these geese were expected to decoy beautifully. They did not disappoint. Shifting to a downwind approach as soon as the lead group saw the spread, they began to circle. In a matter of minutes there were well over 50,000 geese forming a tornado over our heads. Soon a few began to pitch down into our spread. One Ross goose pitched down directly in front of us… I mean it landed within 10 feet of Keith. The birds continued to pitch in, and the flock as a whole was setting up for a final approach. Someone from the back called the shot, “Get ‘em boys!” Ten guns came to life as one, spouting fire and lead and geese began to fall from the sky. As I finished up my third shot, I looked around to watch the show. Geese were falling from the sky over the entire spread. It was literally raining geese. 27 geese were downed during the initial volley. Five more were picked off as they attempted to make a hasty getaway. A few smaller groups returned over the next hour, offering chances at singles and doubles. By the end of the morning we had bagged 62 geese. As we all gathered around to recall the more exciting moments of the morning, I overheard someone say “Well, I guess now we gotta pick up all these decoys”.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
"Magellan Hunts River Run - Day 2 and 3"
DATE: 1/3/2011
LOCATION: Beaver Run
WEATHER: temps (24 low, 50 high), Sunny, South wind at 5-10 mph
KILLS: 3 Greenheads and 1 Hen Mallard, 2 Blue Geese
FRIENDS: Jimmy Cobbs and Jared Mott
After a freeze, we didn't rush out of the camp at daylight. Rather, we slept in, cooked some breakfast, cleaned up the camp, and finally left for the fields about 9:30. Magellan was one of about 250 decoys we put out after breaking a good-sized hole in the "Middle Middle" field. Jimmy had left me know that Magellan had acquired the nickname "Magician". Well, he lived up to that billing. After flying a thousand miles, I was looking forward to some hunts in my old stomping grounds, having heard Jimmy describe tales of quick limits and fast shooting the prior two days. Well, the "Magician" flat made all those ducks disappear. We languished in the "Middle Middle" field until about 2 p.m. without so much as a snapping off of a safety. Finally, we decided to move to the next field to the east. We picked up ALL the decoys and moved 'em. We were ready at the new spot by 3:30, just in time to watch mallards pour into the neighboring property. We were able to peel a few off, shooting four. It took a lot of calling, but I was able to drop a few birds, including some seriously wayward snows in the spread around Magellan. Frustrating day, but it was good to salvage some birds in the last two hours. But the "Magician" wasn't done. Returning to camp, we discovered a dead snow goose on the roof of the camp, apparently the victim of a neighbor shooting from his yard.
After a heated bout of "Rock/Paper/Scissors" to see who was going to clamor onto the roof of the double-wide before the stinking started, I climbed a table, a chair and the roof of the deck before gaining access. A few tentative steps later, the goose was tossed down and I managed to extricate myself from the roof without breaking any bones.
Better tomorrow, and hope springs eternal.
Day 2
DATE: 1/4/2011
LOCATION: Beaver Run
WEATHER: 40 degrees, partly cloudy, SW wind
KILLS: 2 Greenheads, 2 Drake Wood ducks
FRIENDS: Jared Mott, Jimmy Cobbs
The morning started off with a flurry of wood ducks giving passing shots, but no shots were taken. I shot a greenhead landing in the decoys early. All of a sudden, no birds were flying. So during this time Jared decides to start calling the park service in Maryland to reserve a blind for Saturday morning after his return flight home. After he gets a blind, we do some old school hunting as 5 wood ducks start swimming down the ditch behind us. We shot two drakes. Then only one greenhead works the decoys and we get him. Now it's time for us to make the annual trip back to Oxford to eat at the Pizza Den. Will do some scouting after eating some food. Maybe the ducks will cooperate after Magellan leaves and before Jared returns back to Maryland.
Friday, May 13, 2011
"Magellan Hunts the Black Compound"
DATE: 1/2/2011
LOCATION: Black's West Blind, Tallahatchie County
WEATHER: 28 degrees, North wind at 10-15 mph, clear
KILLS: 3 Greenheads and 1 Hen Mallard, 1 Wood duck drake, 5 Green Wing Teal, 5 Shovelers
FRIENDS: Wayne Black, Mitch Black, Chris Reed, Darron Anderson
The ducks are roosting on us and heading to the "Irby Woods", so at daylight we watched thousands leave. Like they have all week, ducks swarmed the woods like bees and those hunters were through quick. We could only scratch a wood duck and a couple of teal early. At eleven o'clock they started coming back. We had until noon to get what we could get before Chris had to leave for a game warden meeting. Between eleven and twelve, we landed a single, a pair, a group of 8 and were about to land 20-something when dad started whacking at the kamikaze duck without seeing the group. I broke a pin in my gun and never fired a shot. The hard cross wind played it's toll on the three other hands. One mallard out of all that is embarrassing. Glad I wasn't missing. Magellan got to see more ducks than he probably cared to see over the woods, and is happy to head North. See you later in January at Beaver Dam!
Saturday, May 7, 2011
"The Elder Rig"
It's been said that in order to find yourself, you must first be lost. So it was but a few months ago that I was "lost" in the carving world. A man without a country so to speak. I was struggling with carving and painting and finding my place in the carving community.
That all started to change when I read Geoff Vine's current article in Wildfowl Carving Magazine. He has written a wonderful two part tutorial on the "Blair" style decoys, including some much needed blending techniques for painting. After devouring the first part, I started trading emails and phone calls with a few noted carvers, namely Jode Hillman and George Strunk (see links to the right for each carvers website). My ever increasing interest lead me down a road of further research into the "Delaware River School of Carving", mostly likely unmatched on a historical basis.
To be sure, another couple of individuals who I'm constantly "Googling" are Sean Sutton and Rick Brown (again, links on the right). While Sean has since evolved into one of the most complete carvers a man could hope to be, Rick still pumps out eye-appealing, classic Delaware style.
A couple of internet forum conversations, in which it was impressed upon me that the "Blair" style is a great starting point for someone attempting oil paints, led me to carve and paint my own, not to mention an "English" bird, whose style I was beginning to really enjoy. I did things a little different I guess. For one, my decoys stink, which is different from the masters of course. Secondly, I wanted to deepen the colors of the birds, making them richer. This is readily apparent in the breast/side pockets of each. I'm color blind, so what you see is what I see (or like when I see it). After 35 years, I've learned to live with it. Lastly, these decoys have no eyes...nor will they. I wanted to carve and paint varying styles with as little monetary input as I could get away with. I figure (and this is the great thing about carving your own decoys) that I could add anything I wanted on subsequent birds if I enjoyed the style and they turned out.
I started with the "Blair" style and fell into the "English". I don't believe you can have one without the other, and make your Delaware rig complete.
In any case, some history:
In the late 1800's, two men off the Delaware River carved some of the finest gunning decoys to ever grace the planet. Besides the how nice the decoys were, forgetting how sought after as collectables they are today, the thing that caught my eye as much as any other was the fact that both "styles" of carvings are touched with just a little mystery. Those men? John Blair and John English, respectively.
According to the "Father of Decoy Collecting" Joel Barber, author of "Wildfowl Decoys", Mr. Blair was a sportsman who carved all his decoys and hired out a Philadelphia portrait painter "of considerable note" to paint the birds. Later, Bill Mackey stated that John Blair himself was a portrait painter. It was thought that Blair was in fact a banker, not a portrait painter. In any case, the decoys were so elegant that they were carried to and from the Delaware River, each in it's own canvas bag for protection. Another issue is that at the time of the penning, editing, and printing of "Floating Sculpture - the Decoys of the Delaware River" in 1982, at least 100 "Blair" decoys where known to exist, having been found in 9 different states. Mr. Bob White, a Delaware River decoy expert AND an extremely accomplished decoy carver himself stated in "Floating Sculpture" that for 100 to have survived a century, he would have had to have carved thousands. Years later, when his grandson Colonel John Blair III was asked who painted his granddads decoys, he responded, "A trolley painter..." According to "Floating Sculpture", John Blair was in fact a wheelwright. He made and repaired wheels and also made carriages AND most likely was the owner of a carriage making firm. The trolley painter was most likely in the employ of Blair, painting carriages for the elite of Philadelphia.
Now, let's move on to the John English mystery.
To date, my favorite "style" of decoy. The long and the short of it was that many of English's birds were given credit to another master decoy carver of the time and area, John Dawson. According to "Floating Sculpture", "Now we know that all of the sculptured classic "Dawsons" are in reality repaited John English decoys.
Hope you enjoyed a bit of a history lesson (as I understand it in any case) and my feeble interpretation of two masters of American folk art.
That all started to change when I read Geoff Vine's current article in Wildfowl Carving Magazine. He has written a wonderful two part tutorial on the "Blair" style decoys, including some much needed blending techniques for painting. After devouring the first part, I started trading emails and phone calls with a few noted carvers, namely Jode Hillman and George Strunk (see links to the right for each carvers website). My ever increasing interest lead me down a road of further research into the "Delaware River School of Carving", mostly likely unmatched on a historical basis.
To be sure, another couple of individuals who I'm constantly "Googling" are Sean Sutton and Rick Brown (again, links on the right). While Sean has since evolved into one of the most complete carvers a man could hope to be, Rick still pumps out eye-appealing, classic Delaware style.
A couple of internet forum conversations, in which it was impressed upon me that the "Blair" style is a great starting point for someone attempting oil paints, led me to carve and paint my own, not to mention an "English" bird, whose style I was beginning to really enjoy. I did things a little different I guess. For one, my decoys stink, which is different from the masters of course. Secondly, I wanted to deepen the colors of the birds, making them richer. This is readily apparent in the breast/side pockets of each. I'm color blind, so what you see is what I see (or like when I see it). After 35 years, I've learned to live with it. Lastly, these decoys have no eyes...nor will they. I wanted to carve and paint varying styles with as little monetary input as I could get away with. I figure (and this is the great thing about carving your own decoys) that I could add anything I wanted on subsequent birds if I enjoyed the style and they turned out.
I started with the "Blair" style and fell into the "English". I don't believe you can have one without the other, and make your Delaware rig complete.
In any case, some history:
In the late 1800's, two men off the Delaware River carved some of the finest gunning decoys to ever grace the planet. Besides the how nice the decoys were, forgetting how sought after as collectables they are today, the thing that caught my eye as much as any other was the fact that both "styles" of carvings are touched with just a little mystery. Those men? John Blair and John English, respectively.
According to the "Father of Decoy Collecting" Joel Barber, author of "Wildfowl Decoys", Mr. Blair was a sportsman who carved all his decoys and hired out a Philadelphia portrait painter "of considerable note" to paint the birds. Later, Bill Mackey stated that John Blair himself was a portrait painter. It was thought that Blair was in fact a banker, not a portrait painter. In any case, the decoys were so elegant that they were carried to and from the Delaware River, each in it's own canvas bag for protection. Another issue is that at the time of the penning, editing, and printing of "Floating Sculpture - the Decoys of the Delaware River" in 1982, at least 100 "Blair" decoys where known to exist, having been found in 9 different states. Mr. Bob White, a Delaware River decoy expert AND an extremely accomplished decoy carver himself stated in "Floating Sculpture" that for 100 to have survived a century, he would have had to have carved thousands. Years later, when his grandson Colonel John Blair III was asked who painted his granddads decoys, he responded, "A trolley painter..." According to "Floating Sculpture", John Blair was in fact a wheelwright. He made and repaired wheels and also made carriages AND most likely was the owner of a carriage making firm. The trolley painter was most likely in the employ of Blair, painting carriages for the elite of Philadelphia.
Now, let's move on to the John English mystery.
To date, my favorite "style" of decoy. The long and the short of it was that many of English's birds were given credit to another master decoy carver of the time and area, John Dawson. According to "Floating Sculpture", "Now we know that all of the sculptured classic "Dawsons" are in reality repaited John English decoys.
Hope you enjoyed a bit of a history lesson (as I understand it in any case) and my feeble interpretation of two masters of American folk art.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
"Magellan at Beaver Run - day 1"
DATE: 1/1/2011
LOCATION: Beaver Run near Marks, MS
WEATHER: Cloudy, NW winds at 10-15 mph, 45 degrees
KILLS: 8 Green Wing Teal, 2 Gadwall, 8 Mallards
FRIENDS: Jim and Jimmy Cobbs, Chris Robertson
The year has been average at best up to this point. It rained 1.5 inches last night, with thunder storms everywhere, and then Magellan showed up. We started the morning off with a "Scotch double" on greenheads. The day was starting to shape up into something special. I have not had ducks like this work all year, and it finally happened. Ducks were coming from everywhere. Didn't take a lot of shooting because the ducks were thick and in our faces.
All that's left now is to cook them.
Saute 1 chopped onion and 3 chopped bell peppers.
Add thinking sliced duck meat and cook together.
Add mozerella cheese and melt
Coat hoagie roll with mayo and horseradish for a duck cheese steak.
Magellan heads off to Tallahatchie county to hunt with Wayne Black, and then back to me for another hunt at Beaver Run...can't wait.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
"Magellan the Magician"
This entry will be a bit different, as the hunt was documented by Stacy via email and his friend, Chad, via the journal.
After first reading Justin’s post about his idea of a traveling decoy, I immediately knew that I wanted to be involved. Not sure I’d make the cut considering many of the guys invited to participate have access to some pretty historical clubs & hunting grounds so I entered my request with reserved hope at best. My second thought was the logistical complexity & wondered if it could be pulled off. Both of my doubts were eventually converted into exact opposites of my initial thoughts. I was chosen to participate & it was clear that the logistics portion would depend heavily on the hosts involved which I had no doubts about. I watched as the first few hosts reported their time with Magellan while anxiously awaiting my time slot to arrive in the schedule. Upon my request, Justin was able to take advantage of an idle time in Magellan’s schedule to coincide with a hunt that my best bud Chad & I planned after the master schedule was released. The stars were aligning nicely.
One day prior to Christmas Eve, I picked up the decoy & his accompanying journal from Jody (Chevy12345), the previous host. The first few minutes were spent admiring the craftsmanship that Justin put into this block called Magellan & the character (battle scars) that it had already developed. Since I was on the way to burn a couple of hours on a deer stand, I decided to take the journal & read the entries of previous hosts. This turned out to be a great way to pass time on an otherwise boring evening in the deer woods. It also made me more excited about being a part of this. I hoped that my time with Magellan could at least hold a candle to some of the early journal entries. On the drive home, I decided that Magellan needed something to travel in. I remembered a small mesh decoy bag I use to carry a couple of decoys when weight / space is crucial & thought it would be perfect. While searching for the bag, I happened across a small old croker (krō′kər) sack & instantly changed my mind about using the store bought decoy bag. I figured that not only I could use it to protect Magellan to & fro’ the blind while he was in my possession, it would also be interesting to send the sack to the next host & see how far in the journey it would accompany him. Only time will tell if the sack made it to the end of the journey.
I had not planned to hunt again until the Monday after Christmas, but Mark (Bigwater) called that night & asked if I wanted to join him, Tad (.tadpole) & Ryan (iron grip) at the infamous Black Democrat (BDDC) the following morning. I accepted & took Magellan along for the ride without telling anyone. Tadpole & Iron Grip were running late that morning so Bigwater & I went ahead & set up with a standard 2 set group of decoys flanking our sides. I retrieved Magellan from the croker sack & chunked him in the gap. Once Biggie & I finished setting up, Tad & Ryan rolled up & unloaded their gear beside ours. Obviously the traveler had already developed an identity of his own as one of the first things out of Tad’s mouth was “That looks like ole Magellan out there in the spread”. Keep in mind that it was still several minutes before first light so all he could see was the silhouette. I thought that was pretty cool. The birds did not fly as well that particular day so we finished up with a baker’s dozen before calling it quits & heading home to begin celebrating Christmas with our families.
Magellan spent the holidays on our mantle before my scheduled hunt the next week. My daughters thought he was pretty cool by the way. The youngest one even asked if I thought he met Santa.
As stated earlier, I coordinated Magellan's time with me to coincide with a planned hunt with my long time best friend; Chad , his brother & another friend on a 3 day hunt @ Chad's new camp. The temps plummeted the night of my arrival leaving the fields locked up solid for the early morning hunt. We felt confident that the ducks would not visit the fields early because of this & opted to make a 45 minute drive to the BDDC to await the thaw & give the other 2 guys a chance to do some wing shooting since their opportunity to do so was limited. First light was fast, furious & fun, but since there were no other hunters to keep the birds moving, the action slowed. During the lull, 2 others & I went to retrieve downed ducks & try to stir them up a little. We managed to flush a few to Chad who stayed put in our initial spot. He was mighty proud that he chose to stay when his first ever Bull Can hit the water on his 2nd shot.
Magellan instantly became “Magellan the Magician”. With the trophy in hand plus 8 more divers, we headed back to Chad ’s camp for a mid morning hunt in the fields. The temps had risen enough that once we broke ice to make a hole, it at least didn’t re-freeze. We finished the days hunt with a mixed bag including Mallard, Teal & Pintail to complete a 4 man limit.
The next morning we managed another mixed bag of Mallard, Teal, and Pintail & Widgeon. Not everyone killed limits on this day, but time afield amongst friends always makes up for any shortcomings. All this under the watchful eye of our new friend, the man, the myth, the Magellan - AKA “Magellan the Magician”. My only regret is not taking better pictures, but the weather conditions had big role in the picture quality during the hunts.
Thanks Justin - It was great to be a part of this project & I really hope this becomes an annual event, Stacy.
FROM CHAD:
DATE: 12-27-2010
LOCATION: BDDC and Riverview Duck Club
WEATHER: 20's, clear, cold and sunny
MOON: Wanning Gibbous
KILLS: Drake Canvasback, 8 Greenheads, 3 Drake Pintails
FRIENDS: Stacy James, Chad Williams, Jim Williams, Brooke Bewley
It has been a tough year up to date. Little water and no food equal a duck shortage. However, the tide was changing, little did we know, with the arrival of Magellan in his brown crocker sack. Stacy had managed to acquire the magical mallard for our special hunt. The weather had changed and the fields were to be locked up with ice the next morning. We elected to hunt the BDDC while awaiting the thaw. This wise decision lead to Magellan luring in my first Canvasback drake, which will proudly be mounted. We finished the hunt with a total of 9 ducks. We left at 9 a.m. and headed back to hunt a thawing bean field from 10-1. After setting a few blocks in a hole we opened, ducks began the show, eager to fall intot eh only open water around. First 20 mallards cupped into the spread and it was pure carnage. Adding a group of pintails, followed by a complete massacrew of passing teal, we quietly ended a full days limit with those 15 puddle ducks.
DATE: 12-28-2010
LOCATION: Riverview Duck Club
WEATHER: 20's, cloudy, with no wind
MOON: Waning Gibbous
KILLS: 5 Greenheads, 2 Wigeon, 2 Drake Pintails, 4 GW teal
FRIENDS: Chad Williams, Stacy James, Brooke Bewley, Jim Williams
High expectations this morning...but we had to break ice again, and had to fight to keep it open. The morning started out fast with several groups hovering above the decoys before shooting time. Once the shooting began, the clouds rolled in and the ducks just would not finish. It was still a successful hunt in the Delta with good friends and good dogs. Not to mention, Magellan was the centerpiece back at the "Duck House" table while we all enjoyed scrambled eggs, bacon, biscuits with syrup, and pigs-n-a-blanket. We have all enjoyed sharing our holes these last 2 days with the magic mallard. We wish him and his future companions well on teh journey ahead. May he bring others as much joy and luck as he has brought us these last few days. Keep riding the ways Magellan!!
After first reading Justin’s post about his idea of a traveling decoy, I immediately knew that I wanted to be involved. Not sure I’d make the cut considering many of the guys invited to participate have access to some pretty historical clubs & hunting grounds so I entered my request with reserved hope at best. My second thought was the logistical complexity & wondered if it could be pulled off. Both of my doubts were eventually converted into exact opposites of my initial thoughts. I was chosen to participate & it was clear that the logistics portion would depend heavily on the hosts involved which I had no doubts about. I watched as the first few hosts reported their time with Magellan while anxiously awaiting my time slot to arrive in the schedule. Upon my request, Justin was able to take advantage of an idle time in Magellan’s schedule to coincide with a hunt that my best bud Chad & I planned after the master schedule was released. The stars were aligning nicely.
One day prior to Christmas Eve, I picked up the decoy & his accompanying journal from Jody (Chevy12345), the previous host. The first few minutes were spent admiring the craftsmanship that Justin put into this block called Magellan & the character (battle scars) that it had already developed. Since I was on the way to burn a couple of hours on a deer stand, I decided to take the journal & read the entries of previous hosts. This turned out to be a great way to pass time on an otherwise boring evening in the deer woods. It also made me more excited about being a part of this. I hoped that my time with Magellan could at least hold a candle to some of the early journal entries. On the drive home, I decided that Magellan needed something to travel in. I remembered a small mesh decoy bag I use to carry a couple of decoys when weight / space is crucial & thought it would be perfect. While searching for the bag, I happened across a small old croker (krō′kər) sack & instantly changed my mind about using the store bought decoy bag. I figured that not only I could use it to protect Magellan to & fro’ the blind while he was in my possession, it would also be interesting to send the sack to the next host & see how far in the journey it would accompany him. Only time will tell if the sack made it to the end of the journey.
I had not planned to hunt again until the Monday after Christmas, but Mark (Bigwater) called that night & asked if I wanted to join him, Tad (.tadpole) & Ryan (iron grip) at the infamous Black Democrat (BDDC) the following morning. I accepted & took Magellan along for the ride without telling anyone. Tadpole & Iron Grip were running late that morning so Bigwater & I went ahead & set up with a standard 2 set group of decoys flanking our sides. I retrieved Magellan from the croker sack & chunked him in the gap. Once Biggie & I finished setting up, Tad & Ryan rolled up & unloaded their gear beside ours. Obviously the traveler had already developed an identity of his own as one of the first things out of Tad’s mouth was “That looks like ole Magellan out there in the spread”. Keep in mind that it was still several minutes before first light so all he could see was the silhouette. I thought that was pretty cool. The birds did not fly as well that particular day so we finished up with a baker’s dozen before calling it quits & heading home to begin celebrating Christmas with our families.
Magellan spent the holidays on our mantle before my scheduled hunt the next week. My daughters thought he was pretty cool by the way. The youngest one even asked if I thought he met Santa.
As stated earlier, I coordinated Magellan's time with me to coincide with a planned hunt with my long time best friend; Chad , his brother & another friend on a 3 day hunt @ Chad's new camp. The temps plummeted the night of my arrival leaving the fields locked up solid for the early morning hunt. We felt confident that the ducks would not visit the fields early because of this & opted to make a 45 minute drive to the BDDC to await the thaw & give the other 2 guys a chance to do some wing shooting since their opportunity to do so was limited. First light was fast, furious & fun, but since there were no other hunters to keep the birds moving, the action slowed. During the lull, 2 others & I went to retrieve downed ducks & try to stir them up a little. We managed to flush a few to Chad who stayed put in our initial spot. He was mighty proud that he chose to stay when his first ever Bull Can hit the water on his 2nd shot.
Magellan instantly became “Magellan the Magician”. With the trophy in hand plus 8 more divers, we headed back to Chad ’s camp for a mid morning hunt in the fields. The temps had risen enough that once we broke ice to make a hole, it at least didn’t re-freeze. We finished the days hunt with a mixed bag including Mallard, Teal & Pintail to complete a 4 man limit.
The next morning we managed another mixed bag of Mallard, Teal, and Pintail & Widgeon. Not everyone killed limits on this day, but time afield amongst friends always makes up for any shortcomings. All this under the watchful eye of our new friend, the man, the myth, the Magellan - AKA “Magellan the Magician”. My only regret is not taking better pictures, but the weather conditions had big role in the picture quality during the hunts.
Thanks Justin - It was great to be a part of this project & I really hope this becomes an annual event, Stacy.
FROM CHAD:
DATE: 12-27-2010
LOCATION: BDDC and Riverview Duck Club
WEATHER: 20's, clear, cold and sunny
MOON: Wanning Gibbous
KILLS: Drake Canvasback, 8 Greenheads, 3 Drake Pintails
FRIENDS: Stacy James, Chad Williams, Jim Williams, Brooke Bewley
It has been a tough year up to date. Little water and no food equal a duck shortage. However, the tide was changing, little did we know, with the arrival of Magellan in his brown crocker sack. Stacy had managed to acquire the magical mallard for our special hunt. The weather had changed and the fields were to be locked up with ice the next morning. We elected to hunt the BDDC while awaiting the thaw. This wise decision lead to Magellan luring in my first Canvasback drake, which will proudly be mounted. We finished the hunt with a total of 9 ducks. We left at 9 a.m. and headed back to hunt a thawing bean field from 10-1. After setting a few blocks in a hole we opened, ducks began the show, eager to fall intot eh only open water around. First 20 mallards cupped into the spread and it was pure carnage. Adding a group of pintails, followed by a complete massacrew of passing teal, we quietly ended a full days limit with those 15 puddle ducks.
DATE: 12-28-2010
LOCATION: Riverview Duck Club
WEATHER: 20's, cloudy, with no wind
MOON: Waning Gibbous
KILLS: 5 Greenheads, 2 Wigeon, 2 Drake Pintails, 4 GW teal
FRIENDS: Chad Williams, Stacy James, Brooke Bewley, Jim Williams
High expectations this morning...but we had to break ice again, and had to fight to keep it open. The morning started out fast with several groups hovering above the decoys before shooting time. Once the shooting began, the clouds rolled in and the ducks just would not finish. It was still a successful hunt in the Delta with good friends and good dogs. Not to mention, Magellan was the centerpiece back at the "Duck House" table while we all enjoyed scrambled eggs, bacon, biscuits with syrup, and pigs-n-a-blanket. We have all enjoyed sharing our holes these last 2 days with the magic mallard. We wish him and his future companions well on teh journey ahead. May he bring others as much joy and luck as he has brought us these last few days. Keep riding the ways Magellan!!
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
"Magellan Hits the Mississippi Delta" part 2
DATE: 12/16/2010
LOCATION: BDDC
TEMPERATURE: Cold - 31 degrees
WEATHER: North wind and cold
KILLS: 5 shovelers and 1 scaup
FRIENDS: Jody Acosta and retriever "Buck"
This was a great afternoon hunt over Magellan, with me and Buck taking a badly needed afternoon of personal reflection. The shovelers were flying, and I was done with the hunt in no time. The sunset was a nice one, and I elected to just sit on the tailgate with Buck watching the shovelers and other "pond" ducks buzz around. It was a great end to a great day.
MAGELLAN WAS THE ONLY DECOY I PUT OUT!
DATE: 12/18/2010
LOCATION: Mallard Manor
TEMPERATURE: 25 degrees
WEATHER: North wind and cold
KILLS: 2 Greenheads, 2 Pintails, 3 Shovelers, 1 GW Teal
FRIENDS: Joseph Gorman, Jeff Dettelbach, Collin Atwell, Garrett Hawkins, Blake Hawkins, Jacob Rushing, Shelton Tillery
GUIDE: Jody Acosta
Buck making a fine retrieve
The kids thought Magellan was "too cool". One of the counselors also had heard about him, and told me he was honored to hunt over Magellan! Overall it was a great hunt, and I know I made some life long friends.
Hopefully, they will take me hunting when I'm an old man.
"Thank you Lord for the friends I made this weekend, the experiences we shared, and the safe travels for them all returning home. Amen!"
Author Jody Acosta and his dog Buck, sharing a quiet moment
BIG THANKS go out to Jody and his documenation of four fine hunts shared with great friends!
Check back soon as Magellan heads down (or up, as the case may be) on more exciting hunts!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
