Tom Reder
New member
Eric suggested posting a few of my writings so I'll throw this one up, let me know what ya think. I Wrote it about a year ago after a solo hunt that was a lot of fun! here it is, I call it
"Still Alive and Well"
This year I turned 63, 63! how did that happen, it seemed like just yesterday I was tearing up and down Broadway in my 65 Mustang and hanging out with my buddies on the street corners, then all of the sudden I'm 63! They say our generation will go down fighting (old age that is) but some things are inevitable so as long as I got a couple of gallons left in the tank I'm gonna keep pushing! But I have to admit, duck hunting is getting harder each year.
My buddies and I call ourselves The Mighty Layout Boys! A name pinned to us by Greg (one of the ring leaders) when we were young. We liked it and the name stuck. Lately we started calling ourselves The Mighty Old Layout Boys. Anyway, each year I try to get out and do a hunt or two by myself. Just me against the elements. Well yesterday was the day.
The forecast was good, dropping temps, wind and rain, all the ingredients of a perfect day of waterfowling! I got down to the marsh in the morning and it starts pouring! After launching my little boat I head out onto the marsh and paddle down to where I saw some birds. A stiff wind is blowing and it's hard to paddle, I get turned sideways by a big gust and have to shove the paddle into the muck to keep from losing ground. I now decide to walk the rest of the distance rather than try and fight the wind. My hood blows down and I'm slapped in the face by pelting rain.
I smile and think "You ain't runnin this old man off that easy" Sliding off the side of the boat I sink into the muck about 4 inches and know this is gonna be tuff, I throw er into 4wheel low and start out across the marsh. As I push through the waist deep water I have to pull my feet almost to the top of the water with each step to keep from getting tangled in the weeds that lie just below the surface.
Rain on my brow is replaced with sweat and I want to pull off my parka to cool down but I know that is a bad idea. I push on. After 200 yards I stop in the small hole that I decided to hunt. I stand for a minute to rest. Not a sound is heard, just the wind rustling through the cattails and the occasional quack of a hen mallard in the distance. I look all around me and there is no sign of man visible, for all intent and purpose I could be a hundred miles from anywhere. No houses, no roads with loud trucks rumbling down the highway, no lights or fences, just woods and water and this brings me peace.
Just then a marsh wren lands mere inches from me as I stand motionless. As it clings to the cattail it calls out it's beautiful warble and I yearn to hold this wondrous little creation. I marvel at the detail God put into this tiny bundle of beauty but as quickly as it arrived it is gone. I wonder where it has come from and where it is headed. I am amazed at the fact that this tiny creature small enough to fit in the palm of my hand will travel hundreds of miles over countless days till it arrives at the destination that was imprinted in it's very soul by He whom created it.
As I rest I take a deep breath and my lungs are filled with cold fresh air, though I am tired I feel like I'm 20!
I start setting the decoys and after I have set the rig I push my small boat up into the cattails. All is ready, now I can relax for a few minutes. Sweat trickles down my chest along with a few raindrops. The contrast between the two is odd.
The 20 gauge is unsheathed and I slide 3 shells into my new auto. I decided to try a subgauge this year not because my old trusty 12 kicks a lot and I am succumbing to old age but rather I am upping the ante with the smaller gun, I'm sticking with that story!
As I lay down and close the doors over my little rig the wind howls. High above me two eagles circle and as I watch them I spot what my eyes have been scanning the skies for since I laid down! Ducks! I see them only for a moment and they are gone in the steady procession of clouds. As I stare at the last spot I saw them more appear to my right! Unlike the first group which were in a V formation and clearly migrating with no intent of visiting this marsh these birds are descending rapidly and braking up into two small groups. They have seen the marsh and plummet from great altitude with reckless abandon!
I do not need to entice them with a call for they have already made up their minds. They will feed and water here today, then move on tomorrow. Their first pass is high and they bank hard after miscalculating the ferocity of the wind, they will not make the mistake again! Four of the six birds go wide but the two lead birds cup their wings so tight that the their wingtips almost touch their feet! Rocking hard from side to side they lean back to slow their decent even more and as this force is applied against the stiff wind they criss cross paths almost slamming into each other! It happens so fast I am not ready to come up in time and they are both in the water before I can rise but as quick as I've realized my mistake the other four birds that I lost tract of are now mere yards behind the leaders and descend with the same steadfastness! This time I am ready and as they pump their wings hard to settle in the decoys I rise as I have countless times and concentrate on the drake directly in front of me. The new auto barks and the drake folds in the center of the blocks. I turn my attention to the rest of the flock who are straining to leave the spot they desperately wanted to be micro seconds earlier.
As I squeeze the trigger on the second bird I shoot right and miss but within the time it takes my gun to eject the second shell and replace it with a fresh cartridge I am on him and he falls a few feet from the first bird. With empty gun in hand I watch as the remaining birds disappear as fast as they appeared and suddenly it is if it had never even taken place, the only proof of the whole event are the two still birds floating in the decoys
I walk the short distance and pick up two large drake Mallards. I am taken back by how big they seem in hand, they didn't appear this big as I rose to meet them. I look at their reddish orange feet and think "Northern birds, the migration is starting" As I turn to head back to the boat three wood ducks appear just feet above the reeds and are flying straight at me! I instinctively freeze but as I prepare to raise up I realize my gun is empty! They tear right through the decoys, as they do the hen lets out her distinctive scream and they disappear.
I climb back into my little hide and close the doors after I have laid my birds in the sides of the boat. More birds appear but keep right on going. A flock of green wing teal fly so close over the boat I feel the wind off their wings as they pass right over me! I laugh to myself and think " you guys are lucky it's the old man in this boat now and not the kid he used to be for that kid would've come up fast enough that one or two of you would be laying with the Mallards! I am OK with that, as I said earlier some things are inevitable and getting slower is part of it. I tell myself, it's OK, what you lack in speed now you've made up with shooting accuracy, then I remember the second shot at a bird fifteen yards out.
I lay quietly for a while and after a time I decide to sit up to take a stretch, but just as I touch the doors I hear them! Chuckling, yes that was chuckling! but from where. I hear it again but this time it is accompanied by the tell tale quacking of a hen Mallard. AKK-AK-Ak-AK she calls and suddenly I see them! A large flock, maybe fifteen to twenty birds strong! They are at the edge of the marsh but low. I am not sure they see the stools so I raise my call to my lips and talk to them, "OVER HERE! LOTS OF US! HURRY" instantly they turn in unisons and cup their wings. The wind drives them to my left and they will have to make one more pass. That is when I spot them! Black ducks! There are two of them in this flock of Mallards. Black ducks! the treasure of most water fowlers! We are only allowed to take one a day for their numbers have dwindled due to the influence Mallards have made on them with inter breading. I am only fortunate enough to have taken a hand full of Black ducks in my career and revere them as a great trophy. I would gladly allow myself to only take one a year but that happens naturally without imposing the sanction on myself.
It has been two years since I have harvested a blacky but I think that is about to change! My heart starts pounding! The flock adjusts its approach and get directly downwind with their second pass. As they approach the uniformity of the flock changes to pandemonium as they begin to rock back and forth in the strong wind. I am watching only two birds in this flock and as usual they are in the back third of the flock, they are wise! I must let the front birds land to get a shot at my trophy. This is a tricky move for if something alarms them, they will jump and there will be no play on the Blacks.
Several birds land and as they do the other birds start stacking up behind them and are approaching the edge of the decoys! If the rest of the flock follows suit they will be at my extreme distance for a safe shot but instantly my worries end as the last seven birds lift momentarily and head to the front of the rig! As I watch the black ducks cup their wings, they are fifteen yards out and directly in front of me! I sit up and as I do everything seems to go into slow motion. I feel the wind at my back, I see birds jumping up just in front of me. A hen screams out a warning call and all the landed birds jump! The last birds throw on the after burners but it is too late, they have lost all their forward motion and must labor hard to lift themselves out of harm's way. I hear the safety click on my shotgun, feel the cold plastic of the synthetic stock touch my cheek. with all my concentration I focus on the lead Black duck and squeeze the trigger! To my delight he tumbles into the decoys! Everything goes back to full speed and as the birds raise up out of the marsh I realize I could take another bird! I throw the gun back to my shoulder and pull up on a bird to my right, as I squeeze the trigger I realize instantly I am behind this bird, my third shot is as erratic as my second and they fly away. I don't mind for I have taken a trophy today and further endeavor is not needed to feel fulfilled! As I pick up the prize I carry him back to the boat thinking of the recent movie " Last of the Mohicans". As the three hunters harvest a large buck they sit quietly speaking honoring words for his strength and his power and then thanked the spirits of the forest for this gift of food.
I too sit for a moment of reverence to this king of waterfowl, one who is full of wisdom and is not harvested easily. I carefully lay him in the boat and contemplate the play from beginning to end. I sit and think of all this sport means to me, how it is more than just hunting ducks but rather it is a tradition that has been handed down for hundreds of years from father to son, from wise old veterans to young apprentices. The ways of the hunter gatherers and today I am the hunter gatherer. There is no trace of the oldman right now, just the warrior and I am at peace for I am the master of the day and I am getting it done one more time! I smile as once again the eagles sail overhead. As I return to the present I hear Johnny Winters singing in the back of my head "Still alive and well, still alive and well, every now and then I know it's kinda hard to tell but I'm still alive and well! -Tom (the hunter, gatherer)
View attachment solo1.jpg
"Still Alive and Well"
This year I turned 63, 63! how did that happen, it seemed like just yesterday I was tearing up and down Broadway in my 65 Mustang and hanging out with my buddies on the street corners, then all of the sudden I'm 63! They say our generation will go down fighting (old age that is) but some things are inevitable so as long as I got a couple of gallons left in the tank I'm gonna keep pushing! But I have to admit, duck hunting is getting harder each year.
My buddies and I call ourselves The Mighty Layout Boys! A name pinned to us by Greg (one of the ring leaders) when we were young. We liked it and the name stuck. Lately we started calling ourselves The Mighty Old Layout Boys. Anyway, each year I try to get out and do a hunt or two by myself. Just me against the elements. Well yesterday was the day.
The forecast was good, dropping temps, wind and rain, all the ingredients of a perfect day of waterfowling! I got down to the marsh in the morning and it starts pouring! After launching my little boat I head out onto the marsh and paddle down to where I saw some birds. A stiff wind is blowing and it's hard to paddle, I get turned sideways by a big gust and have to shove the paddle into the muck to keep from losing ground. I now decide to walk the rest of the distance rather than try and fight the wind. My hood blows down and I'm slapped in the face by pelting rain.
I smile and think "You ain't runnin this old man off that easy" Sliding off the side of the boat I sink into the muck about 4 inches and know this is gonna be tuff, I throw er into 4wheel low and start out across the marsh. As I push through the waist deep water I have to pull my feet almost to the top of the water with each step to keep from getting tangled in the weeds that lie just below the surface.
Rain on my brow is replaced with sweat and I want to pull off my parka to cool down but I know that is a bad idea. I push on. After 200 yards I stop in the small hole that I decided to hunt. I stand for a minute to rest. Not a sound is heard, just the wind rustling through the cattails and the occasional quack of a hen mallard in the distance. I look all around me and there is no sign of man visible, for all intent and purpose I could be a hundred miles from anywhere. No houses, no roads with loud trucks rumbling down the highway, no lights or fences, just woods and water and this brings me peace.
Just then a marsh wren lands mere inches from me as I stand motionless. As it clings to the cattail it calls out it's beautiful warble and I yearn to hold this wondrous little creation. I marvel at the detail God put into this tiny bundle of beauty but as quickly as it arrived it is gone. I wonder where it has come from and where it is headed. I am amazed at the fact that this tiny creature small enough to fit in the palm of my hand will travel hundreds of miles over countless days till it arrives at the destination that was imprinted in it's very soul by He whom created it.
As I rest I take a deep breath and my lungs are filled with cold fresh air, though I am tired I feel like I'm 20!
I start setting the decoys and after I have set the rig I push my small boat up into the cattails. All is ready, now I can relax for a few minutes. Sweat trickles down my chest along with a few raindrops. The contrast between the two is odd.
The 20 gauge is unsheathed and I slide 3 shells into my new auto. I decided to try a subgauge this year not because my old trusty 12 kicks a lot and I am succumbing to old age but rather I am upping the ante with the smaller gun, I'm sticking with that story!
As I lay down and close the doors over my little rig the wind howls. High above me two eagles circle and as I watch them I spot what my eyes have been scanning the skies for since I laid down! Ducks! I see them only for a moment and they are gone in the steady procession of clouds. As I stare at the last spot I saw them more appear to my right! Unlike the first group which were in a V formation and clearly migrating with no intent of visiting this marsh these birds are descending rapidly and braking up into two small groups. They have seen the marsh and plummet from great altitude with reckless abandon!
I do not need to entice them with a call for they have already made up their minds. They will feed and water here today, then move on tomorrow. Their first pass is high and they bank hard after miscalculating the ferocity of the wind, they will not make the mistake again! Four of the six birds go wide but the two lead birds cup their wings so tight that the their wingtips almost touch their feet! Rocking hard from side to side they lean back to slow their decent even more and as this force is applied against the stiff wind they criss cross paths almost slamming into each other! It happens so fast I am not ready to come up in time and they are both in the water before I can rise but as quick as I've realized my mistake the other four birds that I lost tract of are now mere yards behind the leaders and descend with the same steadfastness! This time I am ready and as they pump their wings hard to settle in the decoys I rise as I have countless times and concentrate on the drake directly in front of me. The new auto barks and the drake folds in the center of the blocks. I turn my attention to the rest of the flock who are straining to leave the spot they desperately wanted to be micro seconds earlier.
As I squeeze the trigger on the second bird I shoot right and miss but within the time it takes my gun to eject the second shell and replace it with a fresh cartridge I am on him and he falls a few feet from the first bird. With empty gun in hand I watch as the remaining birds disappear as fast as they appeared and suddenly it is if it had never even taken place, the only proof of the whole event are the two still birds floating in the decoys
I walk the short distance and pick up two large drake Mallards. I am taken back by how big they seem in hand, they didn't appear this big as I rose to meet them. I look at their reddish orange feet and think "Northern birds, the migration is starting" As I turn to head back to the boat three wood ducks appear just feet above the reeds and are flying straight at me! I instinctively freeze but as I prepare to raise up I realize my gun is empty! They tear right through the decoys, as they do the hen lets out her distinctive scream and they disappear.
I climb back into my little hide and close the doors after I have laid my birds in the sides of the boat. More birds appear but keep right on going. A flock of green wing teal fly so close over the boat I feel the wind off their wings as they pass right over me! I laugh to myself and think " you guys are lucky it's the old man in this boat now and not the kid he used to be for that kid would've come up fast enough that one or two of you would be laying with the Mallards! I am OK with that, as I said earlier some things are inevitable and getting slower is part of it. I tell myself, it's OK, what you lack in speed now you've made up with shooting accuracy, then I remember the second shot at a bird fifteen yards out.
I lay quietly for a while and after a time I decide to sit up to take a stretch, but just as I touch the doors I hear them! Chuckling, yes that was chuckling! but from where. I hear it again but this time it is accompanied by the tell tale quacking of a hen Mallard. AKK-AK-Ak-AK she calls and suddenly I see them! A large flock, maybe fifteen to twenty birds strong! They are at the edge of the marsh but low. I am not sure they see the stools so I raise my call to my lips and talk to them, "OVER HERE! LOTS OF US! HURRY" instantly they turn in unisons and cup their wings. The wind drives them to my left and they will have to make one more pass. That is when I spot them! Black ducks! There are two of them in this flock of Mallards. Black ducks! the treasure of most water fowlers! We are only allowed to take one a day for their numbers have dwindled due to the influence Mallards have made on them with inter breading. I am only fortunate enough to have taken a hand full of Black ducks in my career and revere them as a great trophy. I would gladly allow myself to only take one a year but that happens naturally without imposing the sanction on myself.
It has been two years since I have harvested a blacky but I think that is about to change! My heart starts pounding! The flock adjusts its approach and get directly downwind with their second pass. As they approach the uniformity of the flock changes to pandemonium as they begin to rock back and forth in the strong wind. I am watching only two birds in this flock and as usual they are in the back third of the flock, they are wise! I must let the front birds land to get a shot at my trophy. This is a tricky move for if something alarms them, they will jump and there will be no play on the Blacks.
Several birds land and as they do the other birds start stacking up behind them and are approaching the edge of the decoys! If the rest of the flock follows suit they will be at my extreme distance for a safe shot but instantly my worries end as the last seven birds lift momentarily and head to the front of the rig! As I watch the black ducks cup their wings, they are fifteen yards out and directly in front of me! I sit up and as I do everything seems to go into slow motion. I feel the wind at my back, I see birds jumping up just in front of me. A hen screams out a warning call and all the landed birds jump! The last birds throw on the after burners but it is too late, they have lost all their forward motion and must labor hard to lift themselves out of harm's way. I hear the safety click on my shotgun, feel the cold plastic of the synthetic stock touch my cheek. with all my concentration I focus on the lead Black duck and squeeze the trigger! To my delight he tumbles into the decoys! Everything goes back to full speed and as the birds raise up out of the marsh I realize I could take another bird! I throw the gun back to my shoulder and pull up on a bird to my right, as I squeeze the trigger I realize instantly I am behind this bird, my third shot is as erratic as my second and they fly away. I don't mind for I have taken a trophy today and further endeavor is not needed to feel fulfilled! As I pick up the prize I carry him back to the boat thinking of the recent movie " Last of the Mohicans". As the three hunters harvest a large buck they sit quietly speaking honoring words for his strength and his power and then thanked the spirits of the forest for this gift of food.
I too sit for a moment of reverence to this king of waterfowl, one who is full of wisdom and is not harvested easily. I carefully lay him in the boat and contemplate the play from beginning to end. I sit and think of all this sport means to me, how it is more than just hunting ducks but rather it is a tradition that has been handed down for hundreds of years from father to son, from wise old veterans to young apprentices. The ways of the hunter gatherers and today I am the hunter gatherer. There is no trace of the oldman right now, just the warrior and I am at peace for I am the master of the day and I am getting it done one more time! I smile as once again the eagles sail overhead. As I return to the present I hear Johnny Winters singing in the back of my head "Still alive and well, still alive and well, every now and then I know it's kinda hard to tell but I'm still alive and well! -Tom (the hunter, gatherer)
View attachment solo1.jpg
