Idaho: Day Six

So there I am at the highway exit for Rose Lake, the turnoff to go to my old slaying grounds outside Harrison. I still have another 30+ miles to go and it's complete whiteout conditions. Plows have yet to cover this stretch of rural byway because it's 5am, a full half hour after I left my house. The highway trip that should have taken only 10 minutes took a half hour. The snow is about 8" to 10" deep and coming down full force. I still have 1 1/2 hours until shooting time for the 40 minute trip but I have to wonder if this is a smart way to discover if Reccos Automotive really did fix my 4x4 system correctly, or if they missed something like before. I push on.

I make it to Anderson with just enough time to set up before first light. 4x4 engaged at 35mph the whole way. Twice the blowing snow allowed me to see nothing beyond my wiper blades for seconds at a time. Very long seconds. The snow is still coming down as I throw my decoys into the water being careful not to make tracks in the snow that would seem out of place to a passing mallard. It doesn't take long for the ducks to fly in, it's cold and slightly windy and the snow is pushing the ducks down from above. I shoot at the first duck and miss. The second time a mallard comes by I shoot and miss again but this time I have a good second shot chance. When I pull the trigger again my new, warmer Cabellas glove is stuck in the trigger guard not allowing my trigger to fully release and, even though there is another shell in the chamber, not allowing me to shoot. More divers pass and some land and then twenty or more Canadian geese glide right by gunning range. Nope, I'm waitin for Greeinie.

Then low and slow, straight at me, into the wind slowing him down, feet extended comes a lone greenie. The perfect shot. I miss again. Once again the second shot is stymied by the glove in the trigger guard but this time I free the glove in time to take another shot, which I do. By the time this all happens he is farther out than sensible but I wing him and he falls to the water still very alive and swimming to get away. By the time I get into the water and have a chance to finish him he is well beyond me and I wade out until I'm chest deep, the bird is now at least 50 yards away. Shit.

Regular readers will be familiar with the picture on the right, it's my Grandpa Clyde. He looks happy sitting there on the back patio with some Heinz ketchup and whatever else is on the table. At this time he has no idea his grandson will someday take a foolish and ill-advised shot at a mallard and have no choice but to watch it swim away to likely die without being fire grilled or combined with fresh ingredients in some way. If he did know I think there might be a scowl on his face, a sign that he is NOT happy. According to my dear Mother he would never let a downed duck get away.

After that I had one more good shot but I never even took it. The duck was over deeper water and I wasn't going to risk wasting another duck. I had tried to walk the shoreline to see if the wind had brought the duck in but the deep snow and thick reeds made progress slow. By the time I got back to the blind I knew my day was likely done. Soon after the snow tapered off and I packed up to head back. In what has become far too typical fashion as I was throwing the last of my decoys in the bag a fat greenie landed in the shallow water just twenty or thirty yards to my right. He quacked at me three times and flew off. Hmmmm?

GBCH