"So Much More to a Hunt"

What would happen if one day someone took all the piles of dead animals away? What about the photos of the birds? What if everything was gone in an instant? Would you still be able to look back at particular hunts with fond memories, or is the long and short of your hunting career the dead birds and accolades you received from the photos?

Nine years ago this past September, I realized I needed more than a bloody pile of dead animals to draw upon. I brought home a hard-headed puppy I affectionately name "Harrison's Eight Gauge". My friends know him simply as Gauge. Pretty much at that moment, 8 Gauge Studios was born, I just didn't know it yet.

That puppy that has become an elder statesman and symbol of sorts has lead me down many paths. Some strange, some were failures, some were meager successes, but all were wonderful in their own right. Several years later while coming home from a week and a half hunting trip to Montana, I picked up another puppy. Eight Gauge's Mountain Man isn't near as rambunctious as his older counterpart, but all the more hard headed. Again, Trapper as he's called along with Gauge have seen as much as any two dogs would ever hope to see. My hobbies have gone beyond the dogs now, into call making for a short time, now decoy carving which I enjoy immensely, but the dogs are always present, always at the forefront. Simply put, THEY ARE 8 Gauge. Without them, nothing else would be what it is, no hunt as special, no ear to scratch waiting on shooting time, and no post hunt burger to share.

Considering my hunt yesterday, this was going to be about the shear volume of working birds I saw. That was, until one of Trapper's retrieves. I had shot a canvasback, and while Trapper was in route the bird (as divers tend to do) flipped over and dove. For the second time this year, I told myself "Trapper's not the dog for this", and for the second time this year, my little dude made a believer out of me.

The canvasback surfaced about 20 yds from where he went down and just as Trapper was getting to him, dove again, and again, and again. Finally, Trapper had enough and dove with him. Completely submerging himself, underwater for a couple of seconds and came up with the bird.

As we both spent the rest of the day shivering in the cold, I thought about what I ask my dogs to do. Sometimes, it doesn't seem fair to be completely honest, but they don't complain. They are just content to be spending time with me, waiting on the next retrieve.

I haven't killed enough canvasbacks in my time to be able to shake off losing a bird, and yesterday I didn't have to. Not because of me, but because of the one thing that makes the hunter in me who I am. Take the calls, take the decoys, take the photos and the birds, and none of that will matter. In the end, it's the black dog sitting next to me that matters.

Me, Trapper, and an all drake limit (canvasback, scaup, and shovelers)

Hope you enjoy, check back often, Justin

"Ironbound Seafood Chowder"

It's no secret that my favorite time of the year begins in early October as the leaves begin to change, the prevailing winds shift out of the North, football is in full swing, and the bourbon keeps you warm around the campfire.  Around the Harrison household, my wife Megan and I have a tradition of making a seafood chowder on the night of the first true "cold front" to make it down to Mississippi.  It's a special recipe for me because I ate my first real bowl of chowder on my first seaduck hunt.  I'll never forget the little hole-in-the-wall shack called "The Woods", which sits on the docks at Plymouth Harbour, selling $11 lobster, and homemade clam and lobster chowder.  At the time, I had never eaten a real chowder made by people that know how to make it.  After that first experience, I searched high and low for a recipe of my own, so that I could experience that chowder whenever I wanted.  Finally, a friend of mine send me a recipe from Mystic Seaport in Rhode Island.  The recipe was really great, but I ended up changing it around to fit my tastes - a practice I typically employ.  Just puts my "stamp" on it.  The original recipe was called "Old Lyme's Scallop Chowder".  This is my take on the original.  Please note, I use scallops, shrimp, and lump crab meat in my chowder, but any form of seafood will likely do.

I've named my recipe the "Ironbound Seafood Chowder" after enjoying a  haddock and lobster chowder on my recent Nova Scotia Eider Hunt.  The end product tasted very similar to my own recipe, though the haddock gave it a slightly different taste.  It was wonderful, particularly after the 20 minute boat ride to get to the island, in freezing temps, and in the dark.

"IRONBOUND SEAFOOD CHOWDER" - serves approximately 4 hungry folks

• butter (original recipe called for 2 TBS - bah.....I just dump it in until I feel good about it)
• 1 large potato (Idaho or russet), peeled and diced to 1/2-inch
• 1/2 cup chopped onion
• 1/2 cup chopped celery
• 1 bunch of green onion
• 2 1/2 cups whole kernel sweet corn
• 1 cup heavy cream
• 3 cups milk
• 1/2 pound peeled shrimp
• 1/2 pound scallops
• 1 cup of crab meat
• salt, pepper and old bay seasoning to taste

PROCEDURE
  

1. Melt butter in a heavy pot over medium heat.  Add potato, onion and celery, cooking until potatoes are soft
2. Puree 1 cup of corn with 1 cup of milk in a blender.  Add to potato mixture with remaining corn, milk, and cream.  Season to taste and bring to boil.  Once at a boil, reduce heat, and stir often.
3. Add seafood on last 2-3 minutes.
4. Serve

I've made this for alot of people over the years, and have never had anyone not enjoy it.  Be sure to serve with good garlic bread.

***To really add to the chowder, serve with a side of smoke deer/venison sausage - the saltiness of the sausage as a side item adds so much to the sweet flavor of the chowder***

Hope you enjoy and please check back often, Justin

"That Ain't Hunting...or...Them's Trash Ducks!"

We've all heard those phrases said, generally multiple times, and typically thrown in the direction of someone who does things differently, enjoys a different method of hunting, and overall appreciates more than the 'status quo'. Click on any semi-busy internet waterfowl talk forum, and you'll see much the same - diver hunters taking jabs at guys who prefer to hunt puddle ducks out of pits and in the timber, calling their main quarry (mallard ducks) "park ducks" or "bread eaters". Or, maybe it's those same puddle duck hunters calling a diver hunter's brace a "bunch of trash ducks", unfit for the table. Either one couldn't be any further from the truth. Having hunted many different areas of the country, under many different circumstances, I thought I had turned the corner with my attitude towards ANY duck or ANY method of hunting. There's just too much in the way of quality gunning experiences to be hamstrung by a closed mind. There are too many adventures to be had that can never be duplicated. One simply can not appreciate a group of 50 strong mallard ducks slapping wings against pin oak limbs as they drop into the timer. Likewise, I know of few instances in waterfowling that are more heart stopping than a squadron of divers making the turn into the decoys. The sound of the wind shear of those wings is truly remarkable. Yep, I got it licked. That is, until my good friend Kris asked me if the ruddy ducks were on the catfish ponds. The conversation went something like this:

Kris - "Hey man, ya'll got any ruddies up there?"

Me - "Aah, yep, they are everywhere...but, who on their right mind would want to shoot one of those stinking birds? Ain't nothing you can do with them but look at them after you kill one."

Kris - "I'll probably eat them."

Me - "EAT THEM??? THOSE ARE TRASH DUCKS...FISH EATERS...WHO'D WANT TO EAT ONE?!?"

That pretty much ended the ruddy duck talk for the day. We probably started talking about the new year, or any number of other topics, just so long as I steered the conversation away from ruddy ducks.

As luck and happenstance would have it, this conversation took place on my drive in to work. And, as sure as I'm sitting here, not 3 hours later I can across a thread on a waterfowl message board entitled "Six Dollar Ducks". The title peaked my interest, so I clicked on the link. Little did I know, I would soon thereafter be looking for some water to wash my "crow" down. The author of the post had shot a couple of ruddy ducks and took one of the coolest photos I had ever seen - the 2 birds laid across an old side by side with spent bismuth hulls just above them. Just a fantastic shot. Then, I started reading what the author had to say about ruddy ducks in general. Basically, the ruddy duck was called a "dollar duck" during the old market hunting days we all look back on with fondness. And, why exactly were they known as 'dollar ducks'? The answer lies in what a ruddy duck brought a market gunner back at the turn of the century - around one dollar, which was pretty good money back then. Now, ask yourself what our highly prized pintails or teal (widely lauded as great table fare today) went for? Around 30-60 cents per bird the best I can tell. Yes, you read that right - the ruddy duck brought more to the pocket than our prized birds.

For more reading on this topic (market hunting prices, ruddy ducks, and cooking wild game in general) check out this link:

www.honest-food.net/2010/12/02/ruddy-ducks-the-original-butterball/

Where am I going with all this?

Hunting is hunting, and every style or method used along with every bird taken is unique in and of itself. Every bird, every hunt, and every experience should be savored and remembered as unique. I learned that this week myself.

This year, I have yet to get up to my camp (L'anguille Lounge) to hunt, nor have I hugged a tree in order to shoot mallards, gadwall and wood ducks in the timber. All I've done is sit on an old catfish pond and pick endless shots at scaup, shovelers, a couple of canvasbacks, and yes, even some ruddy ducks. I have stepped out of my comfort zone and hunted under different rules, employing a different style, and taken birds most consider "trash ducks". And, I've had as enjoyable a duck season as I've had in a long long time.

Next time you see someone's strap of 'trash ducks' or 'bread eaters', you may want to take notice - you may just be missing something.

OPENING DAY SCAUP...and yes, they were eaten as part of a nice gumbo

Here's to an open mind in the new year, hope you enjoy, Justin