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!

Stella!

Wednesday, Nov. 19



Bob and Robert came early for ducks. We hunted George's side and saw two groups of woodies early. Later, I walked them up and Dad killed one on a pass shot. Flip winded the little drake before I sent him...the bird had fallen into a thicket of briars....no problem for the dog....great retrieve.

Larry eventually arose from his beauty sleep and met us at the house for a rabbit hunt after we finished our big post-ducks breakfast. I went home and got the puppy and Bob turned his mob out by the machine shed. We probably jumped five or six rabbits. The dogs had trouble keeping on the trail....too dry? Stella did fine. She doesn't know what she's about yet, but she kept up with the rest of the hounds, and at least she knows she's a beagle now. Robert killed one rabbit and gave the pup a snootful...that got her plenty excited!



Another fun hunt with good friends. Hey, any day in the field's a good'un!

jts

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