The day time stood still-
The morning was naught without issues- the trailer lights were shorted out, the thermos was among the missing; my day was just not going as planned.
But alas we headed out to the ramp in the still blackened, crisp Maine morning. The ramp was to ours and ours alone this am; we untied the old sculling float from the trailer and eased her into the inky water. She was setting so gently on her native water and now things were on the right road!
I and my gunning mate entered her and set out to a small island we had bee watching via binoculars for a few days. The wintry air filled my lungs as I was trying to take it all in, the sounds of the daybreak, the water as it was drawn past the hull. Timeless, it was at best!
We saw the edge of the island and heard the morning call of blacks and mallards- we shipped the four rowing oars and waited till the boat settled before we attempted our ascent. The sculling oar is slipped into a long box out side the boat and as I slipped it into its port there was a rush of noise just above our heads. As I was heads down my gunning partner saw 40 maybe more- maybe less ducks making there way to a cove just to our north east.
We now were giddy like school children, he make fast all supplies and got into his laying down position. His uncased his Fox and I the same with my Winchester. The shells were ice cold and slid into the chambers.
I am a novice at best at this “art” as I have been told it’s called and an art it truly is! We set out now no more than seconds away from legal shooting time and still a half mile to scull to the cove and rocky edge of this small outcropping in this vast harbor.
The oar and I fought a bit we did- and I tried to remember what I was taught- I shortened my hand motion and it settled down- no more the tail wagging the dog- or not as much!
The sun was now cutting a swatch of blinding light and we could see the dark spots on the still water ahead. With no noise and much effort I was able to get this classic scull boat with in 20 yards of the flock.
I tapped my partner with my boot and up he rose and the birds were tranquil then as if torn from there slumber exploded into parts unknown! Two shot rang out from the fox and my 21 sang just once. We had one black duck and two drake mallards! And with that the harbor was buzzing with golden eye, bufflehead’s white wing scooters. Amazing and in that hour and one half or so from launch to us sitting there on the edge of the island having coffee and muffins this old man can say time for sure did stand still!!!
The morning was naught without issues- the trailer lights were shorted out, the thermos was among the missing; my day was just not going as planned.
But alas we headed out to the ramp in the still blackened, crisp Maine morning. The ramp was to ours and ours alone this am; we untied the old sculling float from the trailer and eased her into the inky water. She was setting so gently on her native water and now things were on the right road!
I and my gunning mate entered her and set out to a small island we had bee watching via binoculars for a few days. The wintry air filled my lungs as I was trying to take it all in, the sounds of the daybreak, the water as it was drawn past the hull. Timeless, it was at best!
We saw the edge of the island and heard the morning call of blacks and mallards- we shipped the four rowing oars and waited till the boat settled before we attempted our ascent. The sculling oar is slipped into a long box out side the boat and as I slipped it into its port there was a rush of noise just above our heads. As I was heads down my gunning partner saw 40 maybe more- maybe less ducks making there way to a cove just to our north east.
We now were giddy like school children, he make fast all supplies and got into his laying down position. His uncased his Fox and I the same with my Winchester. The shells were ice cold and slid into the chambers.
I am a novice at best at this “art” as I have been told it’s called and an art it truly is! We set out now no more than seconds away from legal shooting time and still a half mile to scull to the cove and rocky edge of this small outcropping in this vast harbor.
The oar and I fought a bit we did- and I tried to remember what I was taught- I shortened my hand motion and it settled down- no more the tail wagging the dog- or not as much!
The sun was now cutting a swatch of blinding light and we could see the dark spots on the still water ahead. With no noise and much effort I was able to get this classic scull boat with in 20 yards of the flock.
I tapped my partner with my boot and up he rose and the birds were tranquil then as if torn from there slumber exploded into parts unknown! Two shot rang out from the fox and my 21 sang just once. We had one black duck and two drake mallards! And with that the harbor was buzzing with golden eye, bufflehead’s white wing scooters. Amazing and in that hour and one half or so from launch to us sitting there on the edge of the island having coffee and muffins this old man can say time for sure did stand still!!!
