Thanksgiving Day--2009

Thanksgiving Day has always been a pretty big hunting day around here. We're generally not working, and my brothers are often here at the farm with us. We have all afternoon to siesta, so an early morning is no great challenge even if the Thanksgiving Eve family get together strays into the wee hours. This year it was just Dad and I on one of our favorite beaver pond honey holes. Pre-dawn and dawn low light photos are tough to do right. They never seem to do justice to the moment I'm trying to capture. That time, before the birds start calling, is quiet, serene...for me very spiritual. I'd love to share the essence of this part of the hunting experience, but really cannot...these pics are the best I can do, I suppose.

Pre-dawn in the Beaver Swamp

First Light

Sometimes we sit together; other times a few yards apart. Until first light, the only way I know Dad's there is the glow of his cigarette in the dark. When light comes, he appears in the shadows. Then we wait, first for the birds, then for the sun as it rises in our faces.

Dad in the shadows

Sunrise Over the Decoys

Last Early Ducks

Monday, October 12 Afternoon Hunt




Sat with Cris some this morning at his house. He's still pretty under the weather, but we had a nice visit.

There was plenty of cloud cover early in the afternoon, so I figured the birds might be fooled into flying early as is often the case on gray days. Dad didn't feel like tagging along, so I grabbed Flip and the Mule and hunted Edward's side. It's plenty thick...lily pads, cattails, bullrush, and other stuff...but with enough open water for landing. We went early and sat for two hours. A few birds came in before sunset, but set in way out in front...too far for a shot. Got some nice pics around sunset as the early season ended.



I looked over my shoulder as I latched the gate on the way out and saw dozens of woodies coming to roost. Suckers always arrive twenty minutes after legal time...oh well. It was still good to get out with the dog, and the sunset was beautiful.

More Early Ducks

Saturday Morning, Oct 10

Dad and I hunted the same spot and saw fewer ducks...still all woodies. I put one down way below the dam...Flip hunted pretty hard but the bird was poorly marked and in the thick stuff and we never found it. Meanwhile Dad put a drake down ten yards in front...when Flip and I got back he recovered that bird fine. Once again it was all over quickly.

Early Ducks

October 8

We haven't hunted doves since opening day...no birds anywhere that we can find. Finished the skeet season with the closed club shoot in Sept. It's been a busy Fall. Cris has been under the weather and we missed having him here for our ducks opener.

Dad and I hunted on George's side of the creek. Went in plenty early. The corn's not cut, so we slipped into our little honey-hole by walking between eight foot tall rows of corn and then creeping to the beaver dam. The beaver made known his dissatisfaction with our intrusion before we even got set, and kept popping his tail until the shooting sent him back into the lodge. Flip fidgeted and protested that he couldn't go "play" with the beaver, but he sat tight and didn't yip.

Right at legal time bunches of woodies came piling in, mostly in twos and fours, but some bigger groups too. The suckers came, as they always do, screaming in through the trees, fast and furious. You only get a second or two to commit, mount the gun, and get off a shot before they're either past up the creek or down on the water...no circling and quacking for these guys...you'd better be ready and quick about it.

We got in plenty of shooting but only two down for sure, with one lost. By 7:30 it was over. No pics today.

Waterfowl Seasons

VDGIF posted the 2009-10 waterfowl seasons today after the Board of Game and Inland Fisheries meeting. Looks like 5 per day with 4 mallards and one black, and woodies went to 3 a day. Mark your calendars for early Ducks starting October 8!

Legal Time

This little utility, compliments of the Navy, is going to take all the fun out of trying to figure out legal time. No more squinting at the tiny VDGIF booklet sunrise chart after several hefty bourbons on the night before opening day. No more arguing over whether we need to add or subtract three or four minutes from the Richmond time for the early season.

Now, can they come up with a way to get all my gear in one place before I have the first drink?

The Last Moment

Saturday, January 24---Afternoon

Flip and I returned to the creek an hour before sunset. We slipped up George's side of the creek and down Edward's....good chance to do some remedial schooling on staying at "heel" with distractions abounding. We flared a couple dozen mallards from the current in the swamp below a beaver dam. They got up at about thirty yards or so from us, but I decided to watch rather than shoot. Flip looked up with a question in his eye, but he stayed at heel....good boy.

We recrossed the creek at the lower honey-hole dam right at the end of legal time (just as if I planned it that way). I unloaded and we sat together on the dam sharing the last of the fading sun. We were in that calm stillness of sunset, when even the winter wind lays down for twenty minutes or so, and I reflected on friends, family, and the simple blessings of country living. It's been a good duck season.....who better to share it with than Dad and the Lindsays?

Back at the truck, I set up the tripod and took a few shots looking South and West. We watched several flights of ducks getting up from various points all up and down the creek, wheeling in the sunset and heading west, toward who knows where.....

By now, Flip, safely bundled in the truck seat, looked bored with it all and ready for his supper, so I packed up the camera gear and called it a season. Time's left for rabbits and geese, then we'll begin planning bird plots for next dove season....not a bad year, all in all.

Frankenduk

Cris shot this duck Saturday morning. It's obviously a hybrid of one flavor or another. Both Black ducks and Mallards are prolific crossbreeders, and this behavior is often cited as a potential contributor to declining black duck numbers. We speculated for some time about what the parents of this duck might have been, checked a few websites, and couldn't agree. Dad's theory was a Mallard and Pintail. Mine a Black and Muscovy. We'll never be sure, I suppose.

I sent these pictures and a description to Gary Costanzo, Migratory Game Bird Program Manager at VDGIF. His best guess is Dad's correct...Pintail/Mallard. His argument is the large amount of white on the chest and neck, shape and color of the head, and lack of purple in the speculum point suspicion at a Pintail and Mallard as parents. Gary sent a great picture of an obvious Pintail/Mallard cross. If he gives me permission, I'll post that pic up here later.

One thing's for certain....it's an oddity. Anybody else want to pile on and place an entry in the 2009 "Who's Yo Daddy" duck quiz? Hit the comment button and give us your best guess. Try to keep it clean please, and give us the rationale for your choice.

Here's another conundrum to consider: if I can shoot five ducks per day, with only four allowed to be Mallards, and let's say I've already shot four Mallards.......or my limit of Pintails.....what do we count a duck like this as?.....hmmmm.....

Last Ducks This Season

Saturday, January 24

There's been just enough thaw to open a little patch up the creek...moving into place through the darkness the only sound is cold water flowing over the beaver dam thirty yards on our left. The temperature's comfortable and dull clouds overhead seem to muffle all sounds...skating on waders I work to the open water and set up the Mojo and a couple of black decoys. Cris and Christiane have joined us for this, the last morning of the duck season. Still trying to balance my way across the ice, dodging the dog who's skittering ahead, then underfoot, behind me I hear a thud and a curse. Cris has tumbled over his dove stool backwards into the mud. He flails for a minute like a junebug on its back before righting himself onto the stool. I hear giggles from behind gloved hands, first Christiane, then Dad....

Flip and I set up on the left, Dad on the right, Cris and Christiane in between...and we wait. This is the quiet, expectant time...each of us knit together as hunters have been for thousands of years, and also alone with our thoughts. This time before the light, before the ducks and guns, is calm, thoughtful, and comfortable. It's one of those parts of hunting I can't explain to the uninitiated, and wouldn't really care to try if I could. Just before legal time I hear the first circling quacks and chuckles. The first group of four or five pitches in just after legal...I take one fat greenhead and Flip makes a quick retrieve. By now we're covered in ducks. Threes, tens, big groups all pile in without regard for the splashing dog and wading handler. Cris puts one in the thicket behind me, then two more out front. Dad another, and we have four down nearly at once, all drakes. Flip does his job like the thoroughbred he is.

After working Flip on the birds I end up near Cris and squat in front on the ice as another bunch works its way in. As they flare, Cris kills one more, a funky hybrid of some sort that none of us can identify.

Then, as quickly as it began, it's over. If we were ballplayers, we'd be high fiving like crazy over the shooting we just shared....but we're not ballplayers...we're hunters, so we stand and savor the moment as we watch the light fill the swamp and warm the ice. Christiane's popped her first caps at ducks....cool! I pick up Mr. Mojo for the last time and begin to contemplate breakfast and benelli cleaning. What a great day! What great friends to share it with!

jts

The Mob after the Hunt

Was That Fun, or What?

Oh Vanna....!

Tres Hombres Benelli....Ole!

What a Great Day!

Yep, M. R. Ducks

Three Below

Saturday, Jan. 17

This from the NWS and Weatherunderground.com

Louisa - Northside, Louisa, Virginia (PWS)
-3.1 °F
Clear
Windchill:
-3 °F
Humidity:
81%
Dew Point:
-8 °F

I didn't know we lived in Alberta...

Too cold to take the camera. Dad and I set up on the only open water we found, a small piece below a beaver dam about the size of our dining room. Cold, cold, cold. Didn't see bird one, so quit early and here we are back at the house at 0733.

Last Doves

Saturday, January 10

Dad and I hit the same spot as yesterday. Nothin'. Dad shot at one high flyer that was circling and really wanted in across the creek....desperation shot. Funny how much difference one day can make. Yesterday we saw maybe a hundred birds in there...today, nada.

Perry slipped in behind us and farther down the creek. I flushed a hen mallard from the swamp straight to him. He said it was the first bird he'd shot in three years. Never thought I'd see a three year drought with one of those brothers....we all get busy with softball or other things our kids are doing. It was nice to see him there. Root's getting pretty old and gimpy...Perry says he's twelve...old Labrador.

Sparks has closed for good. There'll probably be more of that with this economy struggling. We went up to the Mineral Restaurant for breakfast after the hunt. Picked up another beagle pup, Jack, from Allen this week....more on Jack later.




Falling temps and rain were the prediction for the afternoon, but since it was the last day of late doves we thought we'd give it a try. Went over to the Bibb place and set up in a bean field. The birds were working a line between the beans and a patch of picked over corn. We sat against some power poles, but it's a big field and hard to hunt with only a few guns. About three the rain started and Dad headed home. Flip and I stuck it out for another hour before we'd had enough too.

Big flocks were flying, maybe twenty to forty in each, but they were few and far between, and they never seemed to light where you wanted them. I killed three and called it a season. We headed home to the fire and some hot chocolate.

Right Spot at the Right Time.....

Friday, January 9

Dad and I hunted the same spot as with Cris and Christiane last weekend. Loads of ducks this morning, and we ended up with two drakes and two hens, all mallards. Flip's getting much better this season at working the scent and hunting cover to recover birds. He did fine today.

Ducks with the Lindsays

Saturday, January 3





Cris is one of the original Benelli brothers, the Super Black Eagle toting gang of four: Mike, Cris, Dad, and me. Part skeet coach, part hunting buddy, Felix to my Oscar in the RV, one hundred percent confidante and friend, Cris is exactly halfway between Dad and me in age, and equally at ease with either in the duck blind. We've hunted some pea soup foggy mornings when the ducks floated in like shadowy ghosts and crisp mornings when they were silhouetted against the bright white of snow squalls, way up in the swamp and down in the blinds. We've had some great hunts; two of Goldmine's ducks hang in Cris' den, a black duck and gadwall.

There was the day five geese that came straight in to the big blind like they were on a string, setting wings two hundred yards out and dumping air to coast toward us ten feet above the water....we up, guns up, wait, wait, wait.......NOW! Bang, bang, bang, four geese on the water and Dad purely sheepish after dropping the hammer on an empty chamber. Cris coined the moniker "Click Schick" for Dad, who will never forget to load the gun again.

Other times we hunted at Uncle Newt's up at Brandy Station. There's something extra special about hunting divers on a farm pond haunted by the silent spirits of men who fought their Yankee brothers and bled into the ground over which we hunted.

Once, when Harry was a young freckle faced boy of ten or twelve, we took him hunting in the beaver swamp. One of my favorite all time images is Cris, stools, guns, shells, and gear under one arm, Harry under the other as they crossed the creek....you see, Harry had no waders. Later that morning the early hour of their rising caught up with Harry and he curled at Cris' feet and napped.

Now Cris has another best friend to join the hunts. Last year we took wife Christiane, but lacking gear and duck stamps she huddled a few yards away and watched the men. Fully outfitted (and legal) this year she joins us as one of the team. The year of aught eight's been a tough one....it's nice to be in the swamp, ready for the big morning flight I scouted this week.



In early, we broke ice for decoys and set up to wait. Just at legal time, Cris took a hen from the first flight. Flip chased her down and made a good retrieve. We had beaucoups ducks working for fifteen minutes, but none in to the decoys after that bunch. As usual, within a half hour it was all over. That's OK.....Christiane got in her first real hunt; we saw plenty of birds; the sunrise was beautiful....all in all a fine morning...next stop, Innwood for breakfast.

Alone - and scouting

Saturday, December 17

Dad's sick...couldn't hunt. We're trying to gear up for a hunt with Cris and Christiane, but need to wait till the plague clears out first. Flip and I hunted on Edward's side. The ice was all gone, so we sat on the edge of the marsh instead of wading to the cattails. It really didn't matter. Used two black duck decoys and had two groups of mallards drop in ten minutes before legal. They left before shooting time and we didn't get another bunch all morning.

I could see plenty of ducks working the creek, so waded up and down looking for a promising spot. Flushed a hundred or so big ducks at the upper end of the property in a new beaver swamp....got to check footing carefully here...plenty of deep, wader dunkin' holes. Marked this spot on the other side so we can get there with the mule. We'll try it with Cris and Christiane once everybody's feeling better.

I gave Dad a jerk rig for Christmas, plus a remote for the Mojo. We'll see how they work when we go.

Where'd they go?

Wednesday, December 24

Hunted in the same spot as last time. Didn't see bird one...go figure.

Widgeons

Saturday, December 13

December's full moon is always nearer than the others for the year. This night's was special....closer than any time in the past fifteen years. At its perigee, near setting as we approached George's field, the moon hung bright and clear....fourteen percent brighter and thirty percent bigger than normal. No need for flashlights setting out this morning. Those who think hunting is all about the killing have never spent time with these two hunters when the cold is so crisp as to catch your breath and the moon so bright and beautiful as to make you wonder at God's glory.

We set up by the beaver dam on George's side. Realizing now that most who visit don't know about George's and Edward's and other secret spots gives me pause to explain, and so I will in the next post.....for now, George's side of the creek is next to a big field that this summer was thick with soybeans on one side and forage sorghum on the other. On cold, frosty days like this you could walk all the way to the edge of the beaver swamp, a small pond astride a smaller creek, in your bedroom slippers without getting wet or muddy. From this side, you face east into the rising sun, so duck identification and first light shots are tough. Beyond is a large marsh, full of boot sucking mud and hat-floater holes. The spot in front of us was calm water, just above the beaver dam and full of acorns, a favorite morning spot for whatever puddle ducks move through.

This morning we were lucky. Plenty of birds were trading up the creek from their roosts on the lake, and although Croc yipped in her excitement, the ducks decoyed well. I killed the first mallard drake into the dekes and another minutes later that fell into a cedar bough twenty feet up a tree...thankfully he eventually tumbled down without assistance and Croc made her second retrieve.

A pair of widgeons decoyed and we put both on the water....both drakes....widgeons here are more unusual than they once were when there was plenty of hydrilla in the lake, before the damned carp were put in. That both were drakes seemed even more unusual. Croc made a long retrieve and hunted hard to find the first, which had gone out of sight up the pond. Then she nabbed the second one from where he had scooted under a big cat brier patch....good girl.

Widgeons, called baldpates in some regions, are pretty birds. Smaller than mallards, they get the baldpate moniker from the appearance of their heads. Gray with a green streak across the eye, the color fades to a pale, almost white crown.

Widgeons have very pretty chestnut, black, and gray hackle feathers on their backs and the tops of their wings. I should have saved these for CG, my fly-tying buddy.

As always on bluebird mornings, the birds were done flying by 7:30, so back to the house we went for breakfast and coffee. As we crossed the yard, I noticed the sun highlighting the American holly in the yard.



What a fine morning....what a great place to live.

The Ducks are Finally Here

Saturday, December 6

Hunted on George's side....colder than a well digger's grave. Finally, Ducks! Right at legal time pairs, threes, and some big groups started piling in. We didn't put out dekes....no need when you're set up in the honey hole.



The ice was bothering Flip, so he cheated by returning on the beaver dam. At one point we had too many birds down...confused him a bit.



All mallards today. Didn't see a woodie or black all morning. We'll rest this spot a few days and bring Cris next week.



All in all, the best day so far this year. Keep 'em coming!

Geese

The Day after Thanksgiving--

I scouted a couple hundred geese by the big blind Thanksgiving Day. Next day, Dad was heading to Kilmarnock for more fishing. Wellesley and I hunted the bottom, coming in from our side and sitting near the canoe. We ran a butt load of geese out when we came in 45 minutes before legal time; then set out maybe a dozen dekes and hunched up in the weeds. We got some very early geese in but they set up too far around the point for shooting. Finally got a group of ten or so in, outside the decoys and barely in range....we promptly wasted several high dollar shells with nothing to show.

Later, a merganser set in the duck decoys close in. Normally I wouldn't bother with a fish duck, but Flip was getting fidgety, so what the heck. Up I stood, across the water ran the merg and "blam"! I shot two feet behind the dumb ole duck....but I nailed the decoy she ducked behind while trying to get airborne with a pretty good load of #3 steel.

In a bit, I added insult to injury. Telling Wellesley it was time to head to the office, I said, "Stay here and keep loaded. I'll pick up. That's sure to bring in the birds." Sure enough, as I stood in the midst of the decoys a hundred or more geese decided to lock up and come on in, landing, of course, eighty yards beyond shooting range. Wellesley didn't quit chuckling till we got in our trucks and went our separate ways. Oh well. Some days chickens, some days feathers.

jts

Last Day of Early Ducks

Monday, Oct. 13--

Dad and I hunted the last morning for early ducks on George's side of the creek. Beavers have built a new dam and flooded the "honey hole". Looked really promising, but again, no ducks. Immediately adjacent Will has just chopped some forage sorghum silage, but there were no doves on the wires as we left. I scouted the Bibb place. They're shelling corn in the bottom, but again, no doves. Dunno where they are.

Amy and I took a long walk around the loop in the afternoon and got up a big gang of turkeys in the bottom, near the lower turn. They flew down the lake toward Kevin's. Next project is a clean up at the cabin for winter.

Saturday, Oct. 11

Despite seeing no birds yesterday, we had to try 'em at least once in the early season. Dad and I hunted Edward's. Heard just a few Woodies squealing. Saw one lone duck about dawn and quit early.....still worth the trip. I wonder if the lack of ducks up here has anything to do with the water being back to regular levels in the lake...dunno.

Switched gears for the afternoon. Will and Willie arrived in time for a dove hunt in the sunflower field, which is pretty picked over. Saw very few doves. I shot at one and thought I missed. Saw Will walk over under the sycamore. Turns out I hit the bird and it went into the tree. Will said it hopped up and down for several seconds and fell out of the tree. Flip got the bird up and it flew across the pond, where he hunted hard and made a good retrieve.

Things were so slow we traded guns for fishing poles. I hooked a big bass, but lost him at my feet while trying to lip him out of the moss at the bank. Oh well.