Gentlemen: I posted the following on another forum (The Refuge) and thought I would seek input here as well:
I am writing up my duck-hunting memoirs. It's going to be called DUCK FEVER: Reflections on a Fifty-Year Addiction to Waterfowling. In one of the chapters I want to identify and tell about my Top Ten Duck Hunts. I am struggling with how to select those ten from all the others. So I ask, what makes a top ten hunt for you? Is it the number of ducks you killed or how quickly you did it? I doubt it. What is that magical combination of things that combine to elevate a certain hunt to "top ten" status for you. Thanks.
Jeff Churan
Chillicothe, MO
Jeff,
I began hunting in 1954, as a bushy tailed kid who wouldn't let a Minnesota blizzard stop him from hunting ducks. All foolishness set aside when I look over the past um-teen years of duck hunting the most memorable hunts were those involving Mother Nature. Here are a few of my favorites. They might or might not help.
A. One morning during an early teal season hunt, with Chili at my side, I watched my lab almost leap over the wild sunflowers trying to get to the Cooper's hawk that had just attacked my spinning wing Mojo dove that was about 5 feet in front of us. Chili's hackles were up and the poor hawk frightened beyond belief!
B. Have you ever had a 60 mallards, a half dozen widgeons, a smattering of gaddies swimming in the honey hole as you waited for the magic hour to begin? Chili was just 8 months old and having the most difficult time even when I was whispering, "STAY" in her left ear. The final straw was when a bull sprig landed within 12 feet of us and she could no longer take it. She just knew that she could catch that duck and bolted out of the blind. Well, to be honest with you it was the best way to scare a bunch of birds up and out of there. I would never think of shooting at them because I would want them to come back in 2's and 3's. Makes for some darn good shooting. I can tell you that she got a good spanking when she got back. Come to think about it, she has never done that since.
C. The only time my lab has growled at me---a vicious type growl, was one morning during our early teal season. I went out to get Chili from her kennel and when I was about to open her door, she growled at me. I remember yelling at her for that, then I decided to take my flashlight and shine it at my feet. There crawling but a foot away from me was a 42 inch western diamondback. There I stood in my bathrobe and sandals. God, I love my dog. She saved me.
D. On one particular morning, I seemed to be shooting shells that had no bb's in them. What I'm trying to say is that I couldn't hit the broad side of a barn. The more I missed easy shots on mallards with their feet out in front of them ready to land, the more frustrated I became. It wasn't until about the third or fourth duck that I missed that I finally caught, "The Look" from Chili. It was the very first time in my life, that I felt guilty for missing a duck. My gosh, that "look" said it all. She still does it to this day.
E. One season, not too long ago, I shot 9 banded ducks. I got to thinking about that and the odds involved. Geez, maybe I should have been purchasing lottery tickets. It wasn't until 2002, when I shot my very first banded duck. I couldn't believe my eyes. Like I told you it had been since 1954 and now I was holding on to my first banded drake mallard. From there things got worse especially when I took the nine banded birds. Every time Chili brought me a downed bird the first thing I did was check it for a band.
On one particular day in November, I had four drake baldpates on the strap and needed just two more ducks to fill my limit. With in a few minutes I had a flock of perhaps 20 gadwalls and mallards fly by. I got on my call and coaxed them around for another look at my spread. They then flew directly over head. I pulled on a good looking greenhead on the left side and smacked him with my first shot. Chili was off like a rocket. I quickly pulled on another drake mallard on the far right side of the flock and dumped him. My lab was already coming back with the first duck and I could see that she knew exactly where the second duck had landed. As she got closer I then saw that the bird she was holding was banded. I grabbed it and quickly started looking at the band number sequence. It was all too unreal. Here was another banded duck. As I kept on gazing at it, little did I realize that Chili was sitting by my left side holding the second greenhead. I nonchalantly picked it up from her and that was when I let loose with a shout for joy. It, too, was banded.
F. As a young brash junior in high school I was invited to hunt with my friend, Tuck, and his father. We were hunting on their large slough north east of town. I was sitting on a rat house when I saw this lone jet fighter come busting by. I yelled to Tuck and said, "Hey, watch this." I shouldered my A-5, 3 inch magnum with a 32" barrel and took him out with the first shot. The bird came hurtling towards me, so I stuck up my left hand and caught him. I remember Tuck's dad. Dr. Nolop saying something like, "Way to go." The impact of that little drake greenwing teal took its toll on my hand. I had to extract the broken wing bone out of the palm of my hand. My gosh that hurt. I never told them of what happened. I was too embarrassed.
G. When I think of duck hunting, of course I can tell you exactly how many duck I have shot since I retired. I have documented every duck that Chili has retrieved. Numbers used to mean something but not any more. I am at peace sitting in my folding chair with Chili at my side. The unique smells of the bosque, the hoots of owls in the area, and then of course to be serenaded by several families of coyotes will always put the icing on the cake. These animals are like my alarm clock. They always seem to howl about ten minutes prior to the season opener. Have you ever had a thousand red-winged black birds decide to come sit in the cattails that you are hiding in? My oh my can that ever be a racket. Numbers might impress younger hunters but I believe that whether it be maybe your hunting partner, an incident with a boat, some unbelievable coincidences, or maybe what your pup did in the blind would be far more interesting.
H. Have you ever made a deal with God that if you can just get out of a predicament that you'll never do it again? One time while looking for ducks on the Rio Grande I started to sink away---slowly at first until I was up to my waist. I looked at my dire situation, talked with God trying to make a deal. I know better but I did it. Well, finally I flung my self face first in the mud with arms outstretched. My A-5 was solid mud by then. I was able to free one leg from my waders, then pull out my other leg. As I began to inch my way back to shore, I pulled with all my might on the waders and by sheer luck got them out of the muck. I felt like a snake as I crawled out but when I got back to solid ground, I did look up and say, "Thank you, Lord." By the way, I have never gone back to that spot. Ever!
I. One day I shot a blue winged teal and set it in the grass in front of me. Since it was such a bluebird day---meaning no birds flying, I decided to call Chili and go for a short walk. Upon coming back I picked up the decoys and made sure I had everything packed on the four-wheeler. Just as I was going to leave I remembered the teal. I got off the four wheeler and walked back to the spot. It was not there. I called Chili to see if she could sniff it out. She could not. In frustration, I left----duckless!
Back at my truck I loaded the four-wheeler and headed for home. I hadn't gone 3 miles when I got pulled over by two federal game wardens. They checked my gun, my shells, and then asked to see my birds. I told them I had none but that I had shot one but some how it disappeared. One game warden looked at the other and the second guy said, "Did you have your decoys over on the west side off the shore of that small pond? I nodded yes. They both began to laugh. He said, "When we were driving past your set up, we had a coyote carrying a duck in his mouth, run in front of our truck. Now we know where your teal went."
J. My wife looked at me and said, "How come you didn't go duck hunting today?" My gosh, I looked at the clock and it was already 7:35AM. I thought I never over slept during duck season. Wrong. Well, I decided to have breakfast with Bev and found myself jumping in the truck with Chili around quarter to nine. When I got to my spot, I threw out a half dozen mallard decoys, poured a hot cup of coffee, sat down in my folding chair, and began thinking of how many ducks must have landed in my little honey hole earlier this morning.
I was quickly taken out of my trance with the audible sounds of a drake mallard calling. Without moving my head out of the dark blue New Mexico sky came about 30 fat old mallards looking for a place to rest. They saw my small spread and never hesitated. I was fortunate enough to pull down two drakes out of that bunch. Chili was once again wagging her tail. Not much time passed by when a smaller flock of mallards came in and they, too, never hesitated. Two more drakes hit the pond. At first I thought I was just plain lucky and then it dawned on me. This spot that I hunted was one in which I had always left within the first hour of the season. With no one around, the mallards had found this spot to their liking and I guess passed the day away, unscathed. I looked at Chili, then at my 4 greenheads, and decided to go home. This was already much more than I could have ever asked for. Nothing quite like "Brunch Time" greenheads.
Al
