A one dog hunter that compares to and makes up the bulk of the hunters in the Association - those that are every day folks looking for a good hunt. Thank you Charles for a very nice picture spread showing a continuing series of successful seasons. Happy New Year: Thought I'd share some pictures of hunting in challenging weather. To go along with the pictures I have to tell a story about my dad and goose hunting. I first heard this story before I was old enough to carry a gun and my job at that time was carrying his extra box of shotgun shells. That task made me feel I was an integral member of the hunting party. My dad (Bob) was a serious goose hunter, who had an equally dedicated hunting partner, an old Norweigan bachelor-farmer nick-named "Yep." It was December in North Dakota in the early 1950s. Dad and Yep arrived at the rainsoaked stubble field at 3:00am. They had permission from the farmer to dig pits for maximum concealment from the wiley Honkers. They trudged in hip boots through the rich Red River Valley mud, packing their burlap sacks of full bodied (and thus weighty by today's standards) Herters decoys. He described how after the first few steps into the field the mud lumped onto their boots so that they left tracks the size of snow shoes behind them. The wind was out of the northwest at 30mph, the sleet stinging their faces as they set up decoys and shoveled the nearly 3 foot deep pits. At last they finished their preparations and well before shooting hours, they settled into their respective blinds. Dad said the final insult of the North Dakota weather came when he had to sit down and the water pooling in the bottom of the pit soaked through his pants and chilled him further. So there they were: in the dark, in December, in the middle of a sea of mud, during a sleet storm, soaked to the skin, chilled to the bone, and exhausted from all the physical effort expended thus far. Dad said he was reflecting on his sanity as he waited in the dark, in the mud, in the cold. Then Yep said in his heavy Scandinavian accent, with complete earnestness and disbelief: "Oh, Bob...just think...there are people out there who would stay in bed on such a morning and miss all this." I guess I've always been challenged to live up to those images and thus feel an additional excitement when the weather and conditions are a little difficult. Picture of ducks on a snowy deck. The best duck hunting I had this year was during a snow storm. I woke early that morning with a reservation for a blind. I was excited to see 4 inches of snow already on the ground and visibility reduced to a block or two. I drove the 35 miles relying on road signs and the slope of the road shoulder to keep me between the ditches. I suited up in my neoprene chest waders and waterproof parka. I carried two dozen lightweight decoys in my shoulder-strap equipped carrying bag across about 200 yards of short cut grass to a rippy grass covered blind. By the time the decoys were out and I settled onto the bench in the blind I was barely breathing hard. And I was snug as a bug in a rug. Yep would have been embarrassed by this level of comfort.
Flock after flock sailed out of the snowy skies and into the decoys. After two flocks, I had 4 ducks and decided to set down the gun and practice my duck calling. Despite the odd sounds coming from my call, the ducks continued to cooperate. After an hour of this, I determined to collect my last two ducks for my limit and head home. About that time, the sky cleared and so did the ducks. Pictures of two day limit of roosters and a bonus male prairie chicken: The other two pictures are of a recent two day hunt during and following an ice storm. Every blade of grass was encased in finger-thick ice. Every step sounded like shattering glass. But the late season birds, which had been flushing wild the weekend before, now had to be nearly stepped on to fly. Instead of the usual flurry of wings flapping or a cackle at the rise, each flush sounded like a bag of drinking glasses bouncing and crashing down a flight of marble stairs.
Good luck on the rest of the season. Charles |
Oh, the walking was a little tough and TJ's (my Wirehaired Pointing Griffon) nose was rubbed nearly raw from plowing through the frozen grass. But compared to easing one's buttocks into an inch of near freezing muddy water, it was a piece of cake. And the rewards of taking on the challenge of tough conditions were tremendous.
