Gary March
Well-known member
It was December 14th 2007, I had my truck loaded with gear and the Barnegat in tow. I was headed to my favorite place, Ruby Creek Lodge on the PendOreille River in the northeast corner of Washington State. I was full of
anticipation, knowing well that the middle of December marked the time when the migration of Redheads, Bluebills and Canvasbacks showed in great numbers. I arrived at the lodge late and tired that evening. It was a very long week at
work and was looking forward to a weekend with just myself and my Water Spaniel (River) enjoying the next two days in the marsh. I had been going to the lodge for the past 5 years and was greeted by the owners, Jason and Chrisee as
though I was family. I stay at the lodge every weekend for the entire 105 day season with the exception of a few other hunts elsewhere. I poured my usual glass of scotch, and sat around the fireplace catching up on Jason’s hunts prior
to me arriving. After making a large lunch for myself and River it was time for me to get some needed rest. River had already gone to bed knowing she was in for a long cold day. I awoke to the sound of the alarm going off, and found
myself moving like a 54 year old that had been doing this for 40 years. My spirit was full of anticipation at what first light would bring, but my body didn’t seem to agree. After eating my favorite old fashioned donuts and drinking a
cup of coffee it was time to drive the short five miles to the boat launch. While driving, I remember thanking God for giving me so many days in the marsh. It seems to be the only place that rejuvenates my soul. While pulling into the
launch I felt it would be wise to chain up the truck. Nothing will wake you up faster than laying on the snowy ground in the dark putting on cold chains.
Following my gps plotter trail, I worked my way upriver in the snowy darkness. River, as usual was up on the bow with a heart full of excitement, anticipating our arrival. I labored over which blind to hunt, and finally decided
to set up on a downriver point on an island. My set of decoys this day was mostly canvasbacks, redheads and two dozen half shell goose decoys. The bay on my left was completely frozen over as it was 14 degrees when I left the lodge.
The main river channel on my right was open and flowing with a light current.
First light came and there was a stillness in the air that took me by surprise. Not many birds trading on the river. The snow was falling hard and I assumed the birds would move later as the storm subsided. After sitting in the
blind for about two hours it was time to dunk the decoys of all the fallen snow. The few birds that did work our set flared on the final approach. Finally I looked upstream scanning the river and saw a large flock of about 60 redheads
trading downriver towards my blind. As they made there first pass, I called on my 1940s Zimmerman broadbill call. They liked what they saw and heard and aggressively banked, turned into the wind for there finale approach. My side by
side barked twice and to my astonishment there were two drakes lying still in the decoys. River was doing her best to get both of them in one pass. She finally gave in and delivered one to my hand , then went back for the other. She
then gave me that look like “This is what we came for”. As I was putting the birds on my leather strap I heard in the distance a faint call of a goose from behind us. Rivers ears were high on her head trying desperately to locate the
goose. I made a quick call on my flute then I looked to my right, there was a single locked up and coming into my decoys. This time I missed on my first shot but folded the large goose on the second. River was very aggressive as
always when it comes to retrieving geese. I think she is reminded of the very first goose she retrieved. We were on an island and the goose I knocked down was very much alive. She was ten months old and that goose beat her with its
wings profusely. From that day forward even a call on my flute gets her wired.
Little did I know as the next turn of events unraveled, I would be on my knees praying for my life. Again I heard a distant call from a goose. This time River was locked on it with both eyes. The bird was coming into the decoys
as though it was on a suicide mission. I stood up, shot and folded the goose with one shot. It feel to my left and landed on the ice in the bay. River bolted out of the blind and ran out on the ice. I called for her to stop and she
ignored my command. She had been whistle trained to stop on command, But by the time I found my whistle on my lanyard she had fallen through the ice about 5 yards in front of the goose. My Barnegat was about 300 yards upstream from me
on the island point. I ask myself “what can I do“? She was hanging onto the ice by her front paws, as the current was trying to pull her under the ice. She was crying profusely like no cry I have ever heard. I knew she would be gone
by the time I went to get my boat and come back. There was a rotten spot in the ice where she went through. I couldn’t see another dark spot like that between me and her. I had no rope in my blind and my life jacket was in my boat. I
remember kneeling and saying a quick prayer. I had no options. I took my heavy parka off, laid on the ice and started crawling towards her. I wasn’t sure if she could last as her shrill voice was getting softer. I knew that if the
ice gave way to me I wouldn’t be coming home. I felt as though there were no other options. Slowly I kept calling her name and crawling towards her, asking myself “What are you doing? You idiot” Your life isn’t worth your dogs. All I
was thinking about was the long ride home without my hunting partner. As I kept moving forward my pace slowed as I knew it wasn’t the right thing to do. I was sick to my stomach, cold, wet and scared. I finally reached for her and
grabbed her front paw. At that time she slipped back into the water as saying “I have had enough.” I pulled as hard as I could and the ice kept breaking towards me. I backed up and pulled again and this time she slid up onto the ice.
She laid there wet and exhausted with no life left in her. I kept sliding backwards while reaching for her and pulling her towards me. I finally made it to shore, ran to the blind, wrapped her into a wool blanket. Rubbing her until
she got warmed up. We then went running up the island to warm her more. By now she was acting like nothing ever happened.
I have primarily hunted alone all my life, and have been told numerous times that it is a mistake. Especially when things go wrong. I have been blessed on a few different occasions and always seem to make it home. With the
exception of a hunt or two a year, I’m not willing to share my blind with anyone but my best friend, River! My American Water Spaniel. The passion to waterfowl hunt is so deeply imbedded in me, that I have never found anyone that likes
the sport as much as I do.
By Gary March
