"One Duck Hunter's Photo Journal"

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Below is nothing more than a compilation of photos from 2005 up to the 2009 hunting seasons.  The duck season photos/stories that make up the 2010-2011 year are being posted as articles are written for 8 GAUGE STUDIOS.

A very good place to start, and an adventure I'll never forget would be here: Nova Scotia Sea Duck Hunting from a Sink Box

one of my favorite photos i've ever taken - HRCH EIGHT GAUGE'S MOUNTAIN MAN - Trapper

the old man - HRCH HARRISON'S EIGHT GAUGE - Gauge, at the "pan field pit"

Gauge with a blue that pat pitt - incredibly long retrieve that i'll never forget

Trapper retrieving a late season shoveler - folks will get down right tester over a fully tuxedo'ed bootlip

just an old meat dog - "hunting"

and "finding"

"The Eyes Have it" - Gauge

Gauge saying, "dude, pick up the damn gun"

a late season limit.....that happened day, after day, after day, after day...

Trapper the next day

"Solid bag"

"Spilling Over"

"Royalty"

River hunt with John Eddleman

"An Old Call"

One of the most memorable sunrises i can remember in a long time

another good 'un

me and marty collins in his shop, holding his hand chopped eiders as part of the "Cranberry Rig" he shared with another carver - Keith Mueller

a "wing" as part of an old sink box, seen in mary's shop - i only thought this would be the first/last one i had ever seen

a Joe Lincoln slate decoy - VERY valuable - and who marty relates his carving too most often

last look around the shop..........

...........before we kill eiders!!!!!!!!!!

Me and Ramsey with a first days limit of eiders

yes, that's ramsey holding up HIS banded eider

a COLD and WET day 2

better day 2 photo

me and ramsey with a limit of atlantic brant and a story too big for the 'net'

me and gauge, along the "missouri breaks", montana - 2005

Montana mallards and Golden Eyes

Greaters

Swans

good day in big sky

The gateway to the "Little Rockies" - where "Liver Eatin' Johnson (i.e. Jeremiah Johnson) made his name

temp was negative 8, we hunted a hot spring and shot them in the lips

good as gold

ramsey stealing my thunder

the Willow Break teal "to do"

my journal reads i was hunting with patrick pitt at number 9.....and, if was one of the coldest days i can remember.........north wind was biting

Me and Pat Pitt in the grass near number 9 at our camp L'anguille Lounge Duck Club

in that photo somewhere is a banded mallard that pat shot.......we almost had a black duck commit that day, and i've seen few pure mallard hunts that would rival the above EVER. often i've said it and i'll say it again but pat pitt could kill a banded duck on the bread isle at kroger - the man has to have a gold horse shoe shoved up his butt!

several years ago, this was trappers first hunt. the jounal reads i hunted at brietz with ramsey and it was FOGGY. limit of ducks and specks with several snows thrown in

good day to be at l'anguille lounge

january 10th at l'anguille. i was suffering from the most unreal food poisoning of all time but managed this one shot...........on a bird that should have been in mexico by then

curious case of mistaken identities

gauge gives it 2 thumbs up

one state - missouri, 5 minutes, 2 bands

Missouri with the good Dr. Zerrer

AAAHHHHH........Alaska


first harlequin

first harlie.............first time surfing an ice berg

Barrows Golden Eye - a favorite

Surreal

the utah bunch, tony and kevin, with a 2nd year king eider drake shot from a layout in valdez

harlies shot over my own blocks

me with a black scoter and oldsquaw

Alaska - go figure

my harlequin and barrows blocks taking a rest

me and kris schaumburg on one of the most righteous points for decoying sea ducks i've ever seen....meanwhile gordon and doc Z where limiting on harlequin

doc Z with some surf scoters

doc Z with one of his harlequin

me with a couple harlequin

and lastly, i'll say this hunt up in alaska has been one of my favorites i've ever been on. we met a drunk gordon in anchorage and true to form he didn't shut up..............and, we had a ball......


the last photo sits proudly in my office and is titled simply - "Pals" - left to right, gordon, me, kris schaumburg, doc Z

Hope you enjoyed my trip down memory lane, again, PLEASE SPREAD THE WORD ABOUT 8 GAUGE STUDIOS!

Have a great weekend, Justin

"Superhunt's Lil' Drummer Boy"

This past weekend was my old high school hunting partner's "Superhunt Weekend".  It's an annual turkey hunt we have each year, whose numbers have grown by way of college buddies and the like.  The wrap up of the weekend as a whole can be read by clicking this link: The Buff Pad.

I'd love to be able to talk about the woods coming alive with thundering gobblers on a crisp spring morning, but I can't.  Truth is, I heard but a handful of gobbles, and it was hot.  There were times I questioned my sanity, as I'm not much of a "sitter".  In the end, Thrash killed the bird I'm about to write about.  In the end, I am convinced that patience will kill more turkeys than any camoflage, call, decoy or choke tube...but, that doesn't make it any easier on your rear end.

The story starts innocently enough, and laden with the promise for fine hunts.  Things pretty much go south at the alarm on the first morning.  I had killed a gobbler the previous week, seen another, and heard several on daddy's place.  As such, I figured this would be a great time to end Foster's "gobble-less" Superhunt streak - it's like 5 years in a row.  Anticipation was high as we entered the turkey woods that morning.  That started melting away as 6:30 faded into 7:30 and not a peep was heard.  We were still sitting (common theme) at 8 o'clock when the decision to run and gun was made.  After about 2 hours worth of walking yielded nothing in the way of gobbling birds, we headed back to camp with our tails tucked - I was hoping for a nap.  Everyone had fairly similar mornings except BJ, who ended a long streak of "longbeardless" springs.

Well, to make a long story short - I didn't get my nap.  I did learn a few things about myself.  Given the walking Foster and I had just done, I no longer have the "let's see what's over the next hill, the grass is always greener" mentality.  And, even if the grass is greener, I no longer care to see it.

The other thing I learned about myself is that I'm getting too old for late nights and 4 a.m. wakeup calls.  I much prefer the 8 o'clock nights in such circumstances.

In any case and sans nap, around 10:30 we started pairing up for the mid day hunts.  I had a choice to make - go with Chunk and Foster on what was sure to be a "walkabout" of epic proportions or go with Thrash who has a reputation of being a true game closer when it comes to turkeys.  Plus, he knew the area a gobbler was hanging out in, which meant we had a specific area we were going to hunt.  No brainer, right?

Insert - pain and frustration here.

We entered the woods of the "Little Drummer Boy" around 10:45 on Saturday.  Seven hours later, we left his woods empty handed, but with a whole new appreciation for the simple things in life - bottled water, recliners, air conditioners, human interaction requiring more than hand signals, etc.  During that time, we were surrounded with constant drumming from LDB and the scratching of his hens contently feeding.  We actually saw a second longbeard about 45 minutes into the hunt, that actually had Thrash and I thinking "hey, this may  go well."  But, he didn't see the need to give us more than a glimpse about 65 yards away, through thick oaks and bay trees.  After that, all we heard was that awful drumming.

We actually moved on him about 4 times that afternoon, trying to close the gap.  And all the while - drumming.  Once, we actually stopped and sat down thinking (stupidly) "this is it, here he comes, get ready" only to have the drumming fade away as quickly as it started.

Late in the day, we moved one last time, and...sat to drumming.

The quote of the day came when Josh looked at me and said, "man, you hurtin'?"  The look I gave him must have sent the message "really, Josh" because he responded, "yeah, me too."

After yet another hour, Josh decided to crawl to a blow down and see just where this turkey was (no, we haven't seen him yet).  He was spotted in a small bit of shade, coming in and out of strut, watching his hens feed...did I mention he was drumming?  Meanwhile, I laid flat on the ground attempting to convince my ass it was okay to stop throbbing and it's rightful place, was in fact, much lower than where it felt like it was positioned - my shoulders.  One hen - the hero of the day if you asked me - got within feet of Josh, not really spooking but knowing something was just not quite right.  She quietly putted, and moved through the bay trees down at the creek's edge, taking the gobbler and other hens with her.  You could just feel that the suffering was finely over, as was the hunt, and that they were headed to roost.

That night over a very, very tall bourbon and water, we relived our little evening of purgatory.  Before turning in for the night we all paired up again and got our marching orders.  Thrash and I were to go back to hunt LDB again.

Let's stop right here.  Maybe I can adequately portray my thoughts on going back to hunt that confounded turkey.  You remember the scene in the old John Candy movie "The Great Outdoors" where Candy took on that Ol' 96'er, and ate it?  You remember when that greazy chef said "he ain't done yet" and Dan Akroyd's character was like "what do you mean not done, all that's left is grissle and fat"?  If so, you probably remember Candy's look of absolute horror at the thought of "more of the same"?  That pretty much describes my feelings on the matter - though, I failed to voice them.

The next morning, Thrash and I ate the grissle and fat.

Oh, he gobbled a bit on the limb alright, then upon pitching out of the tree, he shut up.  Well, saying he shut up is a bit extreme...there was that damn drumming to listen to.

How many times we both whispered, "get ready, he's coming" I have no clue, but the term "rice in China" comes to mind.

We had yet another brief respite rather early in the pain, I mean hunt.  Josh spotted him first, in full strut, strolling down through the timber...drumming.

His hens were right beside us, maybe 20 yards away.  They would have carried him all the way to us, but no, they sensed something wasn't right...not spook mind you, signifying a blown hunt.  Nope, they just wandered back where they came from, slowly.

I'm sure I could wax on poetic about this particular bird, let's face it, I like to do so.  But, to be honest, I just wanted this turkey to die.  Whether that death came at the hands of our Benelli's, a squad of Navy Seals, nuclear missle strike, or Darth Vader's light saber, I cared not - whatever was more painful.

At 1:30 Josh ended our hunt with a well placed shot - unfortunately, it was a quick death.

Walking out, I told Josh that on the last move to the bird, I had had all I could stand...in fact, I could hear my heartbeat in my rear end.

While not being one of those glorious hunts you hear about, it was a very valuable hunt to me.  I learned the value of patience and perserverence when hunting these birds...and, hopefully, gained a new hunting partner.

(Lef to Right) me, Keith "Buff Magic" Polk, Josh Thrash

Hope everyone has a great weekend.  I have to work, and then I'm gonna find an "easy" turkey to hunt...they make them right?

"The Usual Suspects"

You ever really want to write about something but it's so special to you, you can't find the words:???

For over a decade, I have had a particular weekend that I want to tell everyone about, but it's so much fun, so special, and so private, I simply can't find the right words to do it justice.

We collectively call it "SuperHunt".

Really, it's nothing more than a group of high school friends that make a point to get together for a weekend hunt, plus some college additions that fell into the fold, very nicely I might add.  The emails generally start in mid-January and we've typically questioned each other's manhood and wondered where the other guys wife keeps his testicles - purse or kitchen cabinet.

We do eat good though:

2" thick steaks, compliments of "Stool"

I can tell you, the dude on the right is being very tolerant of those on the left.

 

"Chunk" doing, well, I dunno actually

 One of the more disturbing photos I've ever taken...seriously.

And we actually do kill turkeys....sometimes:

The Usual Suspects - they stole all the bad from my youth and replaced it with great memories and countless stories.  At the core, they inspire alot of what I write and are the most unlikely of heros....just a simple bunch of friends:

 [T to B, L to R]: Stool, Chunk, Skillet

Les, Ponder, PeeWee, Buff Magic, Nigel

Thanks for reading about my favorite weekend of the year...

Have a great weekend everyone.  Take a little time to get outside, Justin