Todd Duncan Tennyson
Well-known member
it is kind of slow on here lately, so I am reposting a really old one. We've lost a few really great contributors to this website in the last few years.
.........................................................................
I never really think I am lost when I am out there.
It doesn’t really matter,
I am where I put myself.
With a good hunting buddy,
a good hound to keep us going.
Me and buddy Mike,
and his big brown dog Cody
We have made the run about 200 times over the years.
Things change over time,
the tide certainly does.
The boat got a new rattlecan paint job,
the marina fee went up,
& the snipe are in early this year.
Mike found a new hole in his boot that kept his left leg soaked all morning.
One thing that doesn’t ever change,
is how humbling it can be to get turned around in the fog.
At 0330hrs,
the run that usually takes less than 30 minutes took 2.5 hrs.
i was spun around and bass ackwards,
more so than most days.
I said,
“Mike, I need you to help me out here,
this g.p.s. is fouled up.”
“Ok Todd,”
he said.
He knows how to remain calm.
So we went in a series of circles and fiddled with the gps for another hour.
“You are right,
this thing is all messed up,” he said.
“Good,” I remarked.
“I'm glad it wasn’t all me.”
We found some shallow shore grasses in about 2 ft of water,
knew about where we were,
We just couldn’t find the shore.
I walked until i lost contact with Mike.
Lights were useless,
I could hear geese and ducks flushing within 20 feet.
I stood there and closed my eyes.
Then i opened them.
There was absolutely no difference in what i saw with my eyes open
and with my eyes closed.
It was surreal.
There was not a single point of reference,
none.
No difference in the gradient of slope,
no land marks,
nothing.
I felt as though I was a complete rookie.
I yelled out into the absence.
Mike shouted back,
so I was able to find my way back across the flats in a foot or so of water.
Soon it was shooting light.
We dropped the anchor so we wouldn’t drift with the current and the wind.
At about 0745hrs we thought we had our bearings,
the sky grew light on 1 side of the boat.
I said “Mike, I am going to walk as far as I can and if you hear me yelling
then you need to bang on the boat.
because I can not see you anymore.”
I walked and walked and walked and finally I found something familiar
I recognized where we were.
I grabbed some branches that were 4 ft long and stuck them in the sand every 25 yards or so
so we could find the way to the shore and back to the boat later,
(a good thing.)
I was glad.
Mike was shooting birds from the boat with 3 deeks out.
I asked if he got one
he laughed and said it "sounded like a direct hit."
About 15 minutes later,
we confirmed that it was.
Cody rounded up the bird.
We wallowed along through the muck for about 500 yards.
I stopped to catch my breath and wait until my chest pains stopped,
chewed up an aspirin.
Picked up the bags and gear.
I started swearing,
just because it felt so good to let it out.
As I stumbled into the vacuum of the featureless morning,
heavily loaded with gear,
slipping in the muck.
Some of the swearing was just to myself,
but some was out loud,
figured it would be therapeutic.
We pitched our gear and started to call.
The fog never let up,
so that when birds arrived,
they were there for an instant and then gone.
Soon we had a few in hand,
and then we had a frenzy.
Cody did about 5 back to back fetches in about 6 minutes.
I had to stick with the ducks as they drifted away,
so i could direct Cody to them.
He was getting them all.
I had hot barrels for the first time in a long time.
Soon I had to move the boat,
but first I had to find it.
I knew it had to be in about 4 ft of water,
as the tide had come up about 3 ft from where she was stuck.
I waded out past the last point of reference and into deeper water,
I couldn’t see her.
I cupped both my ears and listened for the sound of water lapping her sides,
I was able to zero in on a space in the nothingness and i waded on for about 30 yards until she was nearly visible.
The sticks in the sand I put out hours earlier saved the day.
I fired her up and rolled on in.
Mike had just winged a mallard that crashed just next to a large bed of tules before I left.
I figured he and Cody would find it while I got the boat,
but they did not.
I told him that I wanted to go check to see if an old wooden platform was still there from last season since the fog was finally clearing.
Figured he could scratch another one down while I went along a very narrow passage into a couple of lagoons that only flood out in January to the point that they can be hunted.
When I came back he said he had not had any luck,
I said,
“you want me to park the bomber and keep trying”…
he said “yeah, 13 is a bad number!”
So I parked the boat and on my way back I stopped to take a photo of some spider webs catching the light.
A mallard took off from about 5 feet away and I was after it,
it was the one that he winged earlier.
I ran and slid,
slipped and fell,
got up,
found my camera in the brush,
ran again and pounced on it.
I said “Well, I might be lousy at finding our spot in the fog,
but i am probably part hound dog.”
Mike barked back,
“what?”
I said, “i just caught that duck after a chase through the thick stuff.”
Mike let out a belly laugh.
I called Cody over and had him bring it back to Mike.
A humbling day.
Getting lost is part of the early season when it is foggy.
To some of us,
it is just natural.
Others looks all of their lives for it,
but never know what it really feels like,
and how good it feels,
to finally recognize that you right where you were supposed to be
all along.
Mike and Cody and a pile of 14 birds.
.........................................................................
I never really think I am lost when I am out there.
It doesn’t really matter,
I am where I put myself.
With a good hunting buddy,
a good hound to keep us going.
Me and buddy Mike,
and his big brown dog Cody
We have made the run about 200 times over the years.
Things change over time,
the tide certainly does.
The boat got a new rattlecan paint job,
the marina fee went up,
& the snipe are in early this year.
Mike found a new hole in his boot that kept his left leg soaked all morning.
One thing that doesn’t ever change,
is how humbling it can be to get turned around in the fog.
At 0330hrs,
the run that usually takes less than 30 minutes took 2.5 hrs.
i was spun around and bass ackwards,
more so than most days.
I said,
“Mike, I need you to help me out here,
this g.p.s. is fouled up.”
“Ok Todd,”
he said.
He knows how to remain calm.
So we went in a series of circles and fiddled with the gps for another hour.
“You are right,
this thing is all messed up,” he said.
“Good,” I remarked.
“I'm glad it wasn’t all me.”
We found some shallow shore grasses in about 2 ft of water,
knew about where we were,
We just couldn’t find the shore.
I walked until i lost contact with Mike.
Lights were useless,
I could hear geese and ducks flushing within 20 feet.
I stood there and closed my eyes.
Then i opened them.
There was absolutely no difference in what i saw with my eyes open
and with my eyes closed.
It was surreal.
There was not a single point of reference,
none.
No difference in the gradient of slope,
no land marks,
nothing.
I felt as though I was a complete rookie.
I yelled out into the absence.
Mike shouted back,
so I was able to find my way back across the flats in a foot or so of water.
Soon it was shooting light.
We dropped the anchor so we wouldn’t drift with the current and the wind.
At about 0745hrs we thought we had our bearings,
the sky grew light on 1 side of the boat.
I said “Mike, I am going to walk as far as I can and if you hear me yelling
then you need to bang on the boat.
because I can not see you anymore.”
I walked and walked and walked and finally I found something familiar
I recognized where we were.
I grabbed some branches that were 4 ft long and stuck them in the sand every 25 yards or so
so we could find the way to the shore and back to the boat later,
(a good thing.)
I was glad.
Mike was shooting birds from the boat with 3 deeks out.
I asked if he got one
he laughed and said it "sounded like a direct hit."
About 15 minutes later,
we confirmed that it was.
Cody rounded up the bird.
We wallowed along through the muck for about 500 yards.
I stopped to catch my breath and wait until my chest pains stopped,
chewed up an aspirin.
Picked up the bags and gear.
I started swearing,
just because it felt so good to let it out.
As I stumbled into the vacuum of the featureless morning,
heavily loaded with gear,
slipping in the muck.
Some of the swearing was just to myself,
but some was out loud,
figured it would be therapeutic.
We pitched our gear and started to call.
The fog never let up,
so that when birds arrived,
they were there for an instant and then gone.
Soon we had a few in hand,
and then we had a frenzy.
Cody did about 5 back to back fetches in about 6 minutes.
I had to stick with the ducks as they drifted away,
so i could direct Cody to them.
He was getting them all.
I had hot barrels for the first time in a long time.
Soon I had to move the boat,
but first I had to find it.
I knew it had to be in about 4 ft of water,
as the tide had come up about 3 ft from where she was stuck.
I waded out past the last point of reference and into deeper water,
I couldn’t see her.
I cupped both my ears and listened for the sound of water lapping her sides,
I was able to zero in on a space in the nothingness and i waded on for about 30 yards until she was nearly visible.
The sticks in the sand I put out hours earlier saved the day.
I fired her up and rolled on in.
Mike had just winged a mallard that crashed just next to a large bed of tules before I left.
I figured he and Cody would find it while I got the boat,
but they did not.
I told him that I wanted to go check to see if an old wooden platform was still there from last season since the fog was finally clearing.
Figured he could scratch another one down while I went along a very narrow passage into a couple of lagoons that only flood out in January to the point that they can be hunted.
When I came back he said he had not had any luck,
I said,
“you want me to park the bomber and keep trying”…
he said “yeah, 13 is a bad number!”
So I parked the boat and on my way back I stopped to take a photo of some spider webs catching the light.
A mallard took off from about 5 feet away and I was after it,
it was the one that he winged earlier.
I ran and slid,
slipped and fell,
got up,
found my camera in the brush,
ran again and pounced on it.
I said “Well, I might be lousy at finding our spot in the fog,
but i am probably part hound dog.”
Mike barked back,
“what?”
I said, “i just caught that duck after a chase through the thick stuff.”
Mike let out a belly laugh.
I called Cody over and had him bring it back to Mike.
A humbling day.
Getting lost is part of the early season when it is foggy.
To some of us,
it is just natural.
Others looks all of their lives for it,
but never know what it really feels like,
and how good it feels,
to finally recognize that you right where you were supposed to be
all along.
Mike and Cody and a pile of 14 birds.
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Looking back now, I know it was only because of worry over what "could" have happened to his 15 yr old son.