The great Stuttgart Splashdown -PART VIII (final installment) NEW 3/3

You know for a fact that I never could run Danny's calls like you can. Without a doubt, that call was built for you.

And a selfish note from me - a copy of that picture of Dr. Bisbee and Mr. Wooster is on the shelf at my house...Dr. Bisbee's son, David, mentioned in the story, was like the "bad influence" uncle we all had at some point. To a young duckhunter, he was something else, and I'm sure he got tired of me asking him to teach me how to call or let me tag along when he went to scout. He always had a story about a deer hunt, or a turkey hunt, or crappie, and he was an incredible cook of wild game, even then...

Those were some very special times...
 
Having hunted with Rick a couple times this year, I can tell you Mr. Pierce that he is taking very good care of your cans in his possession. They are beautiful dekes.

Trip.
 
Good to hear. Hope to do a rig of black ducks this year in cedar to add to the rig......

Hope to get to meet you when I am down some time.......
 
This time we had nine men and a dog. “Deacon,” a black Lab, was quick to perceive that I would be the best ear-scratcher of the lot, so he laid his head on my leg for the ride out to the blind. Deacon had the heavy waddle of an English Lab and the stocky body as well, and looked like he could run through a brick wall if he fancied it. He had that wonderful temperament that all good Labs inherit, and he reminded me of my late hunting partner “Happy” – the best dog any man ever owned. Before the day was over, I was asking Bill, “Do you ever breed that big horse?”

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We ran a zig-zag course through willows to reach the concrete blinds, which turned out to be very well camouflaged by comparison with what I had seen so far, and I noticed the decoys were not the flotsam I had come to expect. These gentlemen knew what it takes to kill ducks, and I had the feeling that they might be able to shoot as well – so it was time to dig out the “hot shells.” We all squeezed into the eight-man blind except for Bill Murphy, who elected to stand in the water near the dog platform and keep Deacon company. When everything was ready, all guns were charged to the muzzles. Dave Bisbee warmed up his call; and, truthfully, if they could ever manage a duck calling contest out in the wilds rather than in the middle of a city street, Dave and his Ditto would win it hands down.

Ducks came piling in at such a rate that I couldn’t decide which direction to shoot. The sky came alive with mallards, baldpate, gadwall, and teal. They came in waves, like an invasion, and it seemed each time I picked out a target, that bird fell dead before I touched the trigger. So I would shift to another victim, only to have the same thing happen again. Dave had filled the air with ducks, and these pot- hunters had twenty dead already, and I had yet to fire a shot. Deacon was swimming a one-dog relay race, and most of the time he fetched in two birds at once. I more or less just sat back and watched, for to tell the truth, it was the damnedest thing I had witnessed in 35 years afield.

Dr. Bisbee diagnosed my case and asked, “Hey, Joe, aren’t you shooting?”
I could only manage something about being used to “shooting back-up” – and it was becoming apparent these guys wouldn’t be needing my specialty.


Finally, Ol’ Coppershot over-reached himself, and after putting three shots into a high-flyer directly overhead, had to leave him making off on one-wing power. My specialty! No need to resist the urge to up-stage Mike – I dropped his bird for him with my first shot.
“Thanks for killing him, Joe; he would have come down in the next county!”

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Dave continued to work his Ditto and brought in a nice flock of green-heads to the front of the decoys. For once I managed to find a duck all to myself, and sent it reeling over backwards, and then spotted an escaper trying to sneak out past the willows and tumbled him end-over-end.
“Boy, nice shot!” said Mike, “You either miss ‘em clean, or kill ‘em dead, don’t ya?”

“Miss ‘em clean?” I’ll show this whippersnapper who misses clean! Dave had a pair of mallards hanging above the decoys so I lined up on the nearest one and shot him dead then swung onto the other, but decided it was too far, so I sat down to reload. Fully three seconds after I had refused the shot, I heard Mike’s shotgun roar, and looked up to see that very same escaper falling straight down and belly up – a full eighty-five yards away.
“How’d you like that shot, Buckeye?”
I had to admit I’d never seen one killed stone dead any farther away than that. One of these days, Mike is going to blow the barrel out of his pump gun with those super – hot loads, but in the meantime, he can sure make you feel there is something wrong with your gunnery.

…to be continued
 
I really enjoyed these last two, Bob. It was good to hear of others talk about the men that they know/knew in this story. Loved the painting of Joe.
I was trying to put myself in that environment that Joe was describing on the last hunt before he had to leave. Actually I was thinking about my camera and how much fun that would have been taking pictures with those ducks coming down through the trees into those small openings.
This statement brought a smile to my face---"One of these days, Mike is going to blow the barrel out of his pump gun with those super – hot loads, but in the meantime, he can sure make you feel there is something wrong with your gunnery."
Al
 
It brought a smile to my face too. My days of being deadly, even on close in ducks are long gone. Between aging eyes, slow reflexes, a hitch in my swing, and not shooting 30 days per season anymore, well, the magic is gone. People who see me shoot now would have a hard time believing I ever did the deeds Joe recounted. But it is nice to go back and remember those days with Joe, not the shots made or missed, but the common bonds that men develop when thrown together in a duck blind.

I wish you could have been there to take all the pictures you wanted, but when you got the pics back, they wouldn't have done those days justice, no matter how skilled a photographer you are. Yeah you could have gotten all the ducks on film, and all the people, like Joe, but all I can say is, "you had to be there," and I will be forever grateful I was. Joe's stories are the best "pictures" of those times I have...........

The stories I could tell about David Bisbee, Murphy and his duck club, Duck gumbo cook offs, and Joanie at Bear Bayou would be great tales in their own right, but after reading Joe's prose, they'd be relegated to side tales only important because they are threads of Joe's story.
 
Next year won't be too far away!.

Trip.
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Hey Trip----
Just 6 months and about 3 weeks to wait. Then our early teal season will be here----that is "if" we have any water by then. Last year my teal hole dried up after the 4th day of the season. Now I know what abbreviated means!
Al
 
It brought a smile to my face too. My days of being deadly, even on close in ducks are long gone. Between aging eyes, slow reflexes, a hitch in my swing, and not shooting 30 days per season anymore, well, the magic is gone. People who see me shoot now would have a hard time believing I ever did the deeds Joe recounted. But it is nice to go back and remember those days with Joe, not the shots made or missed, but the common bonds that men develop when thrown together in a duck blind.

I wish you could have been there to take all the pictures you wanted, but when you got the pics back, they wouldn't have done those days justice, no matter how skilled a photographer you are. Yeah you could have gotten all the ducks on film, and all the people, like Joe, but all I can say is, "you had to be there," and I will be forever grateful I was. Joe's stories are the best "pictures" of those times I have...........

The stories I could tell about David Bisbee, Murphy and his duck club, Duck gumbo cook offs, and Joanie at Bear Bayou would be great tales in their own right, but after reading Joe's prose, they'd be relegated to side tales only important because they are threads of Joe's story.
Click to expand...

Mike, I for one, would enjoy having the chance to read some of the stories that you have stored in the memory box. Give it a go----
As for the shooting and age, I sure do know what you are talking about however it still remains on the top of my priority list when thinking about having fun. This past season I caught myself with a big grin on my face one early morning while setting my decoys out in the Rio Grande. I had Chili and Habi dashing about on the sand island close by, my ears caught the yips of a family of coyotes in the distance and the familiar smells of the environment were enough to make this day well worth it and heck, the season hadn't even opened yet.
Al
 
I remember that. we didn't have water for the 1st half of the season, or cold weather. I have a list of stuff I'm working through to be ready this year. Last year I waited until too late and didn't have some things ready when I wanted. Using my time wisely;)

Trip.
 
Trip...when do you want the longlines? Ronnie also gave me a package of longline clips to give to you as well....
 
And after I get done with Stuttgart tales, there are Temple stories, Wit brothers stories, Alex stories, Sadie and the cans, Merlin and Charley, Donny Richmiller, Gary Morrow, and Mr. Hartman stories. We'll kind of detour around Uncle Steve, Harry, and Orville.......

Say, is there a statute of limitations on migratory bird hunting violations???? I am not saying I did anything wrong, but I may have alledgedly witnessed some infractions that are an integral part of some of the stories, and I would want to protect the innocent as well as the guilty.

You understand, like running salmon filets into the woods?
 
Rick, that is one of the the things on my "list" for off season. Do you wanna grab lunch next week? I'm pretty free.

Trip.
 
Joe brings his tale to an end.....


Bill Murphy thought it was high time to count up the slain, as we had one helluva pile in the boat behind the blind. Bill’s gunning buddy, Leonard Jordan, went back to tally them up and came back saying “We’re in good shape,” which in Arkansas, means that there are no hens, wood ducks, or blacks, as these are all 70 point ducks. I had a feeling Leonard’s report would be our kiss-of-death, and sure enough, the next seven ducks we killed were all hens. The Deacon was busy trying to administer last rites to a ring-neck that Mike and Ricky had gang-banged; but that little blackjack could dive a lot better than any dog, so Bill went out to call him off, and I’ll be damned if he didn’t find two more hen mallards that had been overlooked. That did it. We were filled out, and the hunt was over. We had not even found time to open the coffee jugs. We had killed 46 ducks in just over an hour, and it was truly the best shooting that I have seen in many years.

A lot of gadwall, widgeon, and pintail had been taken along with the rice-fed mallards, and even a green-wing teal or two. All the birds had full crops, stuffed with rice, which felt strange to a boy who is used to feeling corn or acorns in his duck’s gullets. We loaded up the boat for our twisting cruise through the willows and back to the levee, as a flight of Canada Geese called from overhead. Dr. Bisbee was grinning like a “Chessie Cat,” so I knew he had gotten some great photographs, and we all gave Dave a pat on the back for his super job of calling. Mike Pierce kept nudging me and saying, “Did you see that shot, Buckeye?” and I swear, even Deacon had a smile on. It had been one helluva duck hunt.

Back on solid ground, everyone had a turn at holding up some dead ducks for the camera; then we did it all over again when we reached Bill Murphy’s hunting lodge, where the victims were tossed into a wheel barrow and, after a few last pictures, pushed to a small building – never to be seen again. If you wanted ducks, Bill had all you wanted (within a legal limit) picked and frozen, packed in a heavy insulated bag, and waiting for your departure. The going rate for picking ducks in Stuttgart is a dollar per head, and I figured if I can get Bill to let me have the job in place of Elmer, his duck picker, I’d have it made for life. Hell, I’m even willing to help kill ‘em, and keep those oversize decoys painted up in the bargain.

Bill had us all sign the guest book and offered coffee and brandy all around, while Leonard tossed another log on the fire. Bill was even expansive enough to suggest to Mike and me, “If you get one of those decoys made that you can’t get rid of – send it down to me… hell, I’ll buy it.” Such sentiment made me realize what “good ol’ boys” these oilmen can be, after 25 years away from such big-heated fellows. Bill is one of the few people in the world that could remember the “Wooster Drilling Company,” and asked me why I’d left the oilfields twenty-five years ago. I told him the truth: “Bill, it was too much like work!” I didn’t think ol’ Bill would be interested in the boring details of my fling with the little gal in Colorado whose Marshall husband invited me to play “O.K. Corral” with him. Lucky for him, my gun was back in Ohio, so I had to go all the way home to get it.

It was hard to leave these fine people of Arkansas behind. They had bent over backwards trying to make sure that I enjoyed myself, and I can’t say enough about their hospitality. Dr. Jim Bisbee and his wife, Mary, treated me like a long-lost friend; when, in fact, I was merely an acquaintance, and I have them to thank for making this great experience possible. Mike Pierce is the kind of hunting companion most men spend a lifetime wishing for, and his love of duck hunting is contagious to any man lucky enough to share a winter morning beside him. I look forward to seeing Ol’ Coppershot and his wife, Joanie, at one of the decoy shows in the future.

To the people of Stuttgart, my undying gratitude for keeping alive this great sporting event and perpetrating the spirit of waterfowling for generations to come. Thanks to efforts like theirs, we may never be forced to a decision of whether duck hunting is really worth saving, or not. For the sportsmen of Stuttgart, there has never been a doubt.

The End.

Glad that everyone has enjoyed Joe's story; and, once again, thanks to his daughter Patti for permission to reproduce it here on DHBP. There's no doubt that- from his art to his storytelling - Joe Wooster was a truly, uniquely-talented individual. Like Mike Pierce and many others, I have a lot of great memories of time spent with Joe, and feel lucky to have had him as a friend. I have only to look around the walls of the studio to be reminded still of those times and the stories they bring back.

Here's a portrait of Joe done by the late Dick Benson - a man who was another unique member of the "old guard." Dick presented the painting to Joe on one of our frequent trips to the VA home during the last years of Joe's life. Dick himself fell victim to lung cancer shortly after doing the painting.

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A cartoon caricature of Joe that "graced" the program cover for the US National Show back in '77 .

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Here's a classic: a cartoon rendering of my wife done by Joe after he heard that she accompanied me on a sculling outing on the River... when she was six -months pregnant!
(Note the cool-old, wooden "Ohio River Flip-Boat" behind her in the middle photo in the collage.)

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This is a shadowbox containing Joe and Jeannie Wooster's VIP name badges from one of the the Easton Waterfowl Festivals, a poem by Joe, and a picture of him with the carved pin in the box. The wooduck head carving is a pin he once did for my wife. It's inscribed to her on the back - I know it's the only one he ever did (...Pin #1 from an idea he once had to produce a whole series these - an idea he never followed up on).

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And.... a prized possession: one of Joe's hand-made roughing knives. He used to scour the flea-markets for old, German-made, straight razors (he liked the way the steel in their blades held an edge), and then he would fashion his own knives from them. I use this knife, at some point, on every bird I make. Matter of fact, it's my "go-to" knife for frond work.

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Thank you for this... what a great tale. Looked forward to each installment and am sorry to see it end. Looking forward to the next one.
 
I was afraid the conclusion was coming.... so I avoided logging in over the weekend.. then the story got the best of me and I just had to check for updates. Again, I have enjoyed reading each word, and all the comments made about this gentlemen... From all the comments and his writing... its easy to tell our sport lost a great asset. Thanks for posting!
 
Bob,
Thanks for taking the time to post this. I enjoyed the chapters, along with the many pictures.

Now to change the subject----Any pictures of decoys that you are working on?
Al
 
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