Al Hansen
Well-known member
I remember paying a nickel for a box of Crackerjacks—now they are 97 cents.
Down the street from where I lived, while growing up in western Minnesota, Sonny Jurgens, who was a senior in high school, shot an albino greenhead. I was delivering the Sunday morning paper when he pulled up to his house. That was an impressive sight.
Another hunter and I got into a discussion not too long ago and were talking about where we had gone to shoot ducks. I told him that I had never left my home area to hunt. In a flash, I remembered when I boarded the old C-46 transport at Anchorage International and a bunch of us flew within spitting distance of the Aleutian Islands to go hunt geese. That was the time we had so many glass fishing floats on board that it would have been impossible for the plane to have sunk in the Pacific Ocean if we would have had to ditch her.
As a kid in Minnesota, I loved duck hunting in the early fall only because the temperature of the water was warmer. I had no hip boots back then and if I shot a duck, I either took off my shoes, socks, and pants, or just plain got wet and put up with it until I got home (yes, my bicycle was my form of transportation).
In 1963, I had come home from Minneapolis, where I was a first year teacher, to do some duck hunting. While driving out in the country, I spotted a flock of snow geese flying towards the lake. As they approached, I slammed on the brakes, leaped out, shoved a shell in my gun and fired at the lead goose. To my amazement, I hit it with one bb in the last wing joint and then watched it start to sail. I got back in my car and followed the flock and saw where this goose along with two others landed in a slough next to the road that I was on. The rest of the flock regrouped and headed back for the lake.
I knew I didn’t have time to put on my hip boots, so took out my billfold and put that in my shirt pocket and then started in after the geese. With the cattails in the right spots I was able to ambush them and took all three of them as they attempted to fly out of the slough. Talk about being soaked—heck, I didn’t care! What a day that was. For anyone to shoot a snow goose back then, Lady Luck had to be on your side!
If you ever want to shoot “Brown Ducks” go to Alaska. The season began on September 1st and boy it was tough to spot drakes! I also remember how many pinfeathers they had!
When President Eisenhower signed the Soil Bank bill our pheasant population exploded in western Minnesota. It got to almost equal what South Dakota used to be like in the 40's or at least that is what the old timers told me. I loved that time of the year----towards the end of October, when I could go out and shoot my limit of ducks (four), and then at 10:00AM begin to hunt pheasants and back then we could take three.. It was a hunter’s dream come true. Every weekend I was out there.
I can recall one weekend when my mom and dad took us to Minneapolis to the day. I was eight years old and my folks had just bought their first car----a brand new 1949 Nash. It looked like an upside down bathtub! Anyway, when we got to the cities (Mpls/St. Paul) dad found a gas station that was selling fuel for 16 cents a gallon. Dad said, “That sure was nice of them to have a gas war on when we came to town!”
Back in the late 50's when I used my parent’s car to hunt, gas was normally around $0.25 to $0.29 a gallon. Money was very hard to come by back then but filling up the tank was not a problem when duck season was on. I learned to keep the tank looking full so my folks wouldn’t look at the odometer! It was good to have a few extra bucks. I worked part time in a clothing store, mom paid me 10 cents for every point I scored during our high school basketball season, I would baby sit the kids in our neighborhood, and mow as many lawns as possible in the summer and during the winter-time, shovel all the driveways and sidewalks I could find.
When I was going to college at Mankato State in Mankato, Minnesota, I would come home every weekend during duck season. One time on a Friday night while eating supper with my parents and kid sister, mom said, “Skip, why do you always come home every weekend from college? Don’t you have anything to do down there?” I tried to explain to her about my duck hunting disease but I don’t think she figured it out!
I’ll leave you with one last story about Alaska. My favorite place to hunt ducks was at the end of Turnagan Arm, where the Portage Glacier was. It was only about 40/50 miles from my home in Anchorage. In fact, it was right before you get on to what is called the Kenai Peninsula. It was a fantastic marsh with a creek over by the mountains and I could always kill my limit of puddle ducks, usually mallards.
On this one Saturday morning, it was foggier than all get out, almost to the point where any man with common sense would have stayed home. Well, I’m a duck hunter------that will tell you about my use of common sense. Anyway, when I arrived at my parking spot and got out of my 67 Bronco, all I could hear were geese. That perked me up instantly. The fog had closed in and what I found out is that this huge flock of specklebellies had landed there.
That was the first time in my life that I had ever shot a speck. Yup, I was in pig heaven! What made it even more special, is that the clouds were on the deck and the geese could not fly out and over Portage Glacier where Prince William Sound is which is all part of the Pacific Ocean. The following morning I was back for round two. I brought a friend along that time and Darrel took this picture of me. I guess it was around 1968. If so, that made me but a mere kid at the age of 27.
Al
On another hunt I came home with a bonus while out shooting ducks. The coyote was hunting mice and didn't realize that he was the one being hunted.
