Steve Horswell
Member
The gripping saga continues for your reading pleasure. From time to time I will post additional trials and tribulations... SRH
Tales of the Old Crony---The Big Chill
At least this time we weren’t up a creek without a paddle. On the other hand, our waterfowling prospects probably would have been improved had that been the case. Tomorrow was the last day of duck season and my last day of vacation for another year. Determined to make the most of both, we had made plans that night to rendezvous at o’-dark-thirty along the north side of one of our nearby watering holes.
An Alberta Clipper was passing through and the weather forecast had called for high winds and unseasonably cold temperatures to set in after the snow moved out. Perfect! The high, tree-covered north shore would break the wind for us and provide a nice slick for the birds to land.
Awakening early on The Last Day, I could plainly hear that the forecasters had been correct on the wind. After dressing, I checked the temperature…that can’t be right…-15°F!! At that point my wife asked, “You aren’t really going to go hunting today, are you?” There could only be one response in the face of that challenge, “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I?” (Upon reflection, I’m amazed how testosterone levels and levels of common sense are often inversely proportional.) And, though the remainder of the day’s events remain frozen in my memory, her subsequent comments seem to have slipped my mind.
Somewhat before o’-dark-thirty, I arrived at the north shore with my pumpkinseed duck boat in tow. He arrived a few minutes later. As we got out of our trucks, The Old Crony asked, “We aren’t really going to go hunting today, are we?” I responded by unstrapping the duck boat and began loading decoys into it.
The duck boat proved to be very useful while setting decoys as the lake had gained a mantle of over 6” of ice during the night. The runners under the duck boat to enabled me to use it as a sled to transport decoys onto the ice. Lacking open water, decoys anchors were not unwrapped. Unfortunately, the time saved there was used instead to chase down decoys that the gale was blowing across the lake. On the positive side, those chases got my blood circulating and put a bit of feeling back into my extremities.
Finally, when all was in position, we retreated to our trucks to get warmed up. Following a brief consultation, we determined that the best blind position was right where the trucks were setting. We had a great view of the decoys from the trucks and the warmth was awesome. After three or four hours of conversation, we’d had all the excitement we could handle for one day. We packed up. Another Last Day was over.
To be continued…
© All rights reserved. Steven R Horswell 2016
Tales of the Old Crony---The Big Chill
At least this time we weren’t up a creek without a paddle. On the other hand, our waterfowling prospects probably would have been improved had that been the case. Tomorrow was the last day of duck season and my last day of vacation for another year. Determined to make the most of both, we had made plans that night to rendezvous at o’-dark-thirty along the north side of one of our nearby watering holes.
An Alberta Clipper was passing through and the weather forecast had called for high winds and unseasonably cold temperatures to set in after the snow moved out. Perfect! The high, tree-covered north shore would break the wind for us and provide a nice slick for the birds to land.
Awakening early on The Last Day, I could plainly hear that the forecasters had been correct on the wind. After dressing, I checked the temperature…that can’t be right…-15°F!! At that point my wife asked, “You aren’t really going to go hunting today, are you?” There could only be one response in the face of that challenge, “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I?” (Upon reflection, I’m amazed how testosterone levels and levels of common sense are often inversely proportional.) And, though the remainder of the day’s events remain frozen in my memory, her subsequent comments seem to have slipped my mind.
Somewhat before o’-dark-thirty, I arrived at the north shore with my pumpkinseed duck boat in tow. He arrived a few minutes later. As we got out of our trucks, The Old Crony asked, “We aren’t really going to go hunting today, are we?” I responded by unstrapping the duck boat and began loading decoys into it.
The duck boat proved to be very useful while setting decoys as the lake had gained a mantle of over 6” of ice during the night. The runners under the duck boat to enabled me to use it as a sled to transport decoys onto the ice. Lacking open water, decoys anchors were not unwrapped. Unfortunately, the time saved there was used instead to chase down decoys that the gale was blowing across the lake. On the positive side, those chases got my blood circulating and put a bit of feeling back into my extremities.
Finally, when all was in position, we retreated to our trucks to get warmed up. Following a brief consultation, we determined that the best blind position was right where the trucks were setting. We had a great view of the decoys from the trucks and the warmth was awesome. After three or four hours of conversation, we’d had all the excitement we could handle for one day. We packed up. Another Last Day was over.
To be continued…
© All rights reserved. Steven R Horswell 2016
