Jim Boyer
Active member
Just when you think "there's not much new", another duck jumps up.
Saturday was the Illinois opener and it was cold. The water level had changed (again) on the Mississippi. Gunny and I bounced to three different spots that were previously scouted. The wind was in the wrong direction at the first, the second was too shallow to even get close and the third looked so different in the dark, I couldn't find the narrow channel to the spot. After unscrewing my boat off several stumps and using my prop way too much in shallow water, we ended up back at the first......which didn't look nearly as bad....now.
Early on we had a few ducks sweep over the setup before shooting time. Soon, "guns were booming" often to the north. Finally, I fanned on a single teal and then there was nothing but the cold, unrelenting wind. Eventually, I began fighting off frostbite on both hands and especially my shooting hand. Then (of course) nature called. Taking off my jacket was easy and lowering the chest high waders went quickly. The problem was my left shoulder (scheduled for surgery in a couple of weeks) would not allow me to put the tight hunting coat back on. After a huge struggle involving con-torsions and silent swearing, I settled back into my marsh boat.
Now I am really cold and not much good had happened so far. In addition, it was paramount to "find" my fingers again. Off came both gloves and my hands were plunged down into my neckline. Relief was painful, but what was next?
Here they came. Four bluewings in an undulating, breath taking formation riding the wind high over my decoys. They were obviously not going to decoy. As they sailed by and headed for Iowa I swung on the third one (because the first two were impossible to catch up to) and let my instincts take over. It's kind of neat to realize not thinking about something (like shooting a duck) is often times more effective. Back, high over my right shoulder one shot rang out and a beautiful, little duck folded falling in a huge arc between my marsh boat and the distant Iowa horizon (probably a lot close to the boat).
I mentally patted myself on the back and then shouted, "Gunny!" He was the “dog of the day” in his hide on the shoreline next to me. Did I mention he is a great "watcher" and marks really well? Gunny fired straight out of his hide and right into the decoys. However, the fall of my teal was off to the right way out in the water toward Iowa.
I remember, thinking What the........? but I never finished it. A teal jumped up and flew out of our decoys. Gunny was just doing what I told him to do....."Get the duck!" I have no idea how long Gunny had been staring down that teal in our spread. I never saw it plop down.
Kind of sheepishly, I said "No here" to Gunny and set him up to run a blind on the "real" teal. Without a moment's hesitation, Gunny fired on the sound of "back". I was sort of sure where our small duck had fallen, but the waves kept the exact location obscured. Gunny swam straight out toward Iowa and with the west wind in his face, I soon saw his strokes become more forceful. Gunny's nose had it before his eyes did. Efficiently, the one duck we needed to round out the day was soon in hand. Gunny's day had come full circle and momentarily I forgot how cold it was.
After hurriedly picking up the decoys and walking north along the shoreline to retrieve my "big" boat, there was very little energy left in the tank. The expression "gassed"” pretty much described it. The cold west wind was winning the battle of attrition. Putting the Migrator back on my "tender" rig had me looking for a way out. With some trepidation for the next decision, it was time to test the advertised towing capabilities of this boat.......when you really need it.
Yesterday's hunt on the Iowa side was the only practice run. The technique and apparatus for towing were in place, but I had only done it once.....when the conditions were ideal. Today, I was cold and tired plus the west winds were not my friend. In the moment, there just wasn't any easy choice. My mind and body were locked on "easier".
I felt elated when underway and the scary thought of “rope in my prop"” was not allowed to surface. The instant on/off button on my ProDrive was a comfort. The Migrator rides perfectly on the second wake and looks really cool behind my Phowler. Is it still OK for a 73 year old to look cool doing anything?
Not every hunt is a gem in terms of ducks, but this was another unforgettable Illinois opening day for the journal. When I get older and can't recollect anything anymore, the plan is to be able to read about the past and say to myself....."Ah yes!........that was a cool time (in more ways than one)."
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