Todd Duncan Tennyson
Well-known member
Season is nearly 2/3 the way through and we’ve hunted our share.
I have managed to miss more than hit.
An abundance of my human error along the way.
I make it a point to consult several references in regards to the daily tidal swing out where I go
(although, my recent tales have probably keyed you in,
that I may miss a little bit of information from the tide tables
on occasion).
My buddies ( Mike and Kodi) always say,
“man, you have got to get yourself a depth finder.”
My response is always a joking,
“that is what the skeg is for.”
We arrived at the launch and said hello to a couple of other duck hunters, they seemed to have their act together.
A big solid looking rig,
Good camo paint job.
Lights,
& a duck dog that seemed to be accustomed to being in a flack jacket.
I fiddled and farted around like I always do.
Wondering if I should put on my waders
or my gloves
or,
go to the bathroom?
I put on my waders.
Helped Ol’ Alex into his Flack jacket.
Sat in the drivers seat and realized my keys were buried in my blue jeans pocket.
Under my coat,
Under my waders
(I always do this and then have to unzip, unclip and dig my hands under 3 layers of Long johns to find the keys).
Smooth as silk,
We backed the boat into the water.
I always raise the back hatch on the rig when I back up,
Because,
I can see when the trailer crossbeam hits water,
that is when I can float the hull free.
Waived to the other hunters,
wished them a good and safe hunt,
and was off.
They were polite and friendly.
The moon looked like a caved in Halloween pumpkin,
left to cast orange sky
over the big river.
The engine passed no water because the thermostat was closed from the cold.
We pushed the bow into the blackness, and I eased the nose up a skosh.
I passed the place where I always wonder what is waiting
beyond where I can see.
Lights flicker,
and we pass into the channel.
There are other beckons that start to signal as you edge along.
Red,
white,
green .
White again.
White once more (and faster).
I always feel like someone in a ship is signaling me to get out of the way.
It is kind of like the feeling you get when you realize you are going 60mph on the wrong
side of the freeway.
(may you never have this feeling).
I try to keep one eye looking for freighters and tugs with 300 yards of cable and a black barge behind.
I keep the lights in my field of view,
and pray some.
I’ll call Alex close to me,
The deaf old man can not hear me.
I wrap the console with my hand,
bang it like a gong,
He hears that and backs off the bow.
We trust the guidance we get from afar
to help us get to the other side.
We thank God a lot (especially when we are on the river an hour before the sunrise).
I miss having my normal crew manning the lights and watching for waves.
No Mike,
No Lisa,
No John,
No Zachariah.
It is just me and Ol’ Alex today.
We arrive at our spot and find that the tide tables we pulled were from some other time (in the 1920’s)
We were going to hit a point for divers, but we had enough room to set up for dabblers in an alternate location.
“What you want,
sawbills or parkers?”
I asked Alex.
“Lets get the Park ducks while we can”
he replied.
We rolled in and set our gear and within 10 minutes of shooting light,
Had 60 birds within shooting distance.
They were not coming from one place or another,
They were swarming us.
No fliers
All swimmers!
Teams of swimming ducks honing in on us.
From every possible direction.
I kept wondering if there was a little old lady with a bag of stale Williams bread on the opposite shore, doling it out to keep them coming.
Ol’ Alex was set to explode, and this being more than his “dozenth” year with me
I let him hit it.
“Go for it boy,
get em.”
he was off and running down the flats,
like a scalded rabbit.
He must have had his eye on one.
The Old boy managed to leap and pounce on the bird!
I shot a couple that were fleeing his assault.
3 birds down and 2 shots fired!
“Come on Alex,
bring it back,
good dog!” .
He brought the bird to the blind and quickly made his way to the others.
Soon the tide started to lift the grass on the flats.
I could tell we were in for a big tide,
It was coming in fast and we’d pretty near painted ourselves into a corner.
I fetched the bomber and plowed right up to the ammo box (had to leave the camera hanging in a tree to keep it out of the tide).
As I beached the boat, a mallard cruised in and locked on us.
Shot & the bird dropped about 60 yards out.
I said,
“go and get that bird and get back pronto!”
He did, through a long gangline and several singles on long lines.
It should have been a 1 minute fetch, but it took about 6.
He came back to what used to be our perch and stopped.
He’d pulled about 13 decoys on a long line and about another 3 on singles behind him.
He was wiped out.
Must have had over 20 lbs of weight dragging on his old tired black frame.
I looked at him (he was about 5 feet from the boat)
He looked at me,
He seemed “funny”.
I banged on the side of the boat and told him to come aboard.
Alex was up to his shoulders in the water waiting for me.
He wouldn’t respond.
I had a “stalled dog.”
(This happens when a hound gets too cold,
They’ll stall,
and then they sleep, and sometimes never wake up.)
I had 2 anchors out
18 lbs off the bow and 35 off the stern.
I banged that boat and called him on,
He just stood there with the duck in his mouth.
I splashed him in the face and it was like he “snapped to”.
He reached out.
I grabbed his hands and his float coat,
and just about fell overboard too.
we managed to wrestle and tussle the lines and weights
and I dragged him aboard.
Alex looked at me,
he was cold.
Poor old boy, I decided to break out the “dogburner” to warm him up some.
Was glad I did.
His nose started to bleed,
he’d put in a fighters fight today.
I decided to let him rest up.
And warm up
As we watched the snow roll in, the wind picked up.
And the spot we’d intended to hunt was flooded and had rollers crashing the shore.
We quartered the rollers and tried our best to keep the bow up,
It didn’t matter what direction I went,
I had snow behind me and whitecaps spray’d 10 feet tall crashing over me.
So I dropped the hammer and dropped the skeg to really dig in,
I knew the route and needed the traction.
After I loaded it all aboard the trailer back at the launch, I noticed Alex was still cold and shivering some.
I administered a brace of hot corn dogs from the local corn dog place and he seemed to snap to.
By the time I got home,
He was sound asleep and the snowflakes started to flitter down.
And he sleeps now in front of his wood stove.
With a pinfeather stuck to his bloody nose.
I have managed to miss more than hit.
An abundance of my human error along the way.
I make it a point to consult several references in regards to the daily tidal swing out where I go
(although, my recent tales have probably keyed you in,
that I may miss a little bit of information from the tide tables
on occasion).
My buddies ( Mike and Kodi) always say,
“man, you have got to get yourself a depth finder.”
My response is always a joking,
“that is what the skeg is for.”
We arrived at the launch and said hello to a couple of other duck hunters, they seemed to have their act together.
A big solid looking rig,
Good camo paint job.
Lights,
& a duck dog that seemed to be accustomed to being in a flack jacket.
I fiddled and farted around like I always do.
Wondering if I should put on my waders
or my gloves
or,
go to the bathroom?
I put on my waders.
Helped Ol’ Alex into his Flack jacket.
Sat in the drivers seat and realized my keys were buried in my blue jeans pocket.
Under my coat,
Under my waders
(I always do this and then have to unzip, unclip and dig my hands under 3 layers of Long johns to find the keys).
Smooth as silk,
We backed the boat into the water.
I always raise the back hatch on the rig when I back up,
Because,
I can see when the trailer crossbeam hits water,
that is when I can float the hull free.
Waived to the other hunters,
wished them a good and safe hunt,
and was off.
They were polite and friendly.
The moon looked like a caved in Halloween pumpkin,
left to cast orange sky
over the big river.
The engine passed no water because the thermostat was closed from the cold.
We pushed the bow into the blackness, and I eased the nose up a skosh.
I passed the place where I always wonder what is waiting
beyond where I can see.
Lights flicker,
and we pass into the channel.
There are other beckons that start to signal as you edge along.
Red,
white,
green .
White again.
White once more (and faster).
I always feel like someone in a ship is signaling me to get out of the way.
It is kind of like the feeling you get when you realize you are going 60mph on the wrong
side of the freeway.
(may you never have this feeling).
I try to keep one eye looking for freighters and tugs with 300 yards of cable and a black barge behind.
I keep the lights in my field of view,
and pray some.
I’ll call Alex close to me,
The deaf old man can not hear me.
I wrap the console with my hand,
bang it like a gong,
He hears that and backs off the bow.
We trust the guidance we get from afar
to help us get to the other side.
We thank God a lot (especially when we are on the river an hour before the sunrise).
I miss having my normal crew manning the lights and watching for waves.
No Mike,
No Lisa,
No John,
No Zachariah.
It is just me and Ol’ Alex today.
We arrive at our spot and find that the tide tables we pulled were from some other time (in the 1920’s)
We were going to hit a point for divers, but we had enough room to set up for dabblers in an alternate location.
“What you want,
sawbills or parkers?”
I asked Alex.
“Lets get the Park ducks while we can”
he replied.
We rolled in and set our gear and within 10 minutes of shooting light,
Had 60 birds within shooting distance.
They were not coming from one place or another,
They were swarming us.
No fliers
All swimmers!
Teams of swimming ducks honing in on us.
From every possible direction.
I kept wondering if there was a little old lady with a bag of stale Williams bread on the opposite shore, doling it out to keep them coming.
Ol’ Alex was set to explode, and this being more than his “dozenth” year with me
I let him hit it.
“Go for it boy,
get em.”
he was off and running down the flats,
like a scalded rabbit.
He must have had his eye on one.
The Old boy managed to leap and pounce on the bird!
I shot a couple that were fleeing his assault.
3 birds down and 2 shots fired!
“Come on Alex,
bring it back,
good dog!” .
He brought the bird to the blind and quickly made his way to the others.
Soon the tide started to lift the grass on the flats.
I could tell we were in for a big tide,
It was coming in fast and we’d pretty near painted ourselves into a corner.
I fetched the bomber and plowed right up to the ammo box (had to leave the camera hanging in a tree to keep it out of the tide).
As I beached the boat, a mallard cruised in and locked on us.
Shot & the bird dropped about 60 yards out.
I said,
“go and get that bird and get back pronto!”
He did, through a long gangline and several singles on long lines.
It should have been a 1 minute fetch, but it took about 6.
He came back to what used to be our perch and stopped.
He’d pulled about 13 decoys on a long line and about another 3 on singles behind him.
He was wiped out.
Must have had over 20 lbs of weight dragging on his old tired black frame.
I looked at him (he was about 5 feet from the boat)
He looked at me,
He seemed “funny”.
I banged on the side of the boat and told him to come aboard.
Alex was up to his shoulders in the water waiting for me.
He wouldn’t respond.
I had a “stalled dog.”
(This happens when a hound gets too cold,
They’ll stall,
and then they sleep, and sometimes never wake up.)
I had 2 anchors out
18 lbs off the bow and 35 off the stern.
I banged that boat and called him on,
He just stood there with the duck in his mouth.
I splashed him in the face and it was like he “snapped to”.
He reached out.
I grabbed his hands and his float coat,
and just about fell overboard too.
we managed to wrestle and tussle the lines and weights
and I dragged him aboard.
Alex looked at me,
he was cold.
Poor old boy, I decided to break out the “dogburner” to warm him up some.
Was glad I did.
His nose started to bleed,
he’d put in a fighters fight today.
I decided to let him rest up.
And warm up
As we watched the snow roll in, the wind picked up.
And the spot we’d intended to hunt was flooded and had rollers crashing the shore.
We quartered the rollers and tried our best to keep the bow up,
It didn’t matter what direction I went,
I had snow behind me and whitecaps spray’d 10 feet tall crashing over me.
So I dropped the hammer and dropped the skeg to really dig in,
I knew the route and needed the traction.
After I loaded it all aboard the trailer back at the launch, I noticed Alex was still cold and shivering some.
I administered a brace of hot corn dogs from the local corn dog place and he seemed to snap to.
By the time I got home,
He was sound asleep and the snowflakes started to flitter down.
And he sleeps now in front of his wood stove.
With a pinfeather stuck to his bloody nose.
