Photo Exposé

It's been a busy fall, and despite assuring myself that I'd just go hunt a bunch, life has been keeping me busy with other things for the most part. Things are good, but the hunting could have been more betterer.  I've been out scouting mid day with June a few times, and even tossed a couple decoys out here and there. We went on a really long walk around noon one day and spent a few hours exploring new to me areas around Black Lake. But, but both the scouting and the "hunting" was mostly unproductive. I do have a better knowledge of the land, but not of where the birds are. June got exercise and quite a bit of practice with dummies and even a couple real birds. She is shaping up into a retrieving machine despite the lack of real bird opportunity.

Bob and I did get out and hut together at Anderson one morning, but we shotten no birds. Except the one fat greenie dropped in the thickest reeds in the whole world. I stomped around in there for a good chunk of the day with June, but wasn't able to find him. First bird lost in a long time, and it feels bad. Bob might have got a duck, but it was probably a hen widgeon. I guess he would have posted about it if it happened.

What follows are mostly a few snippets of bird watching with a shotgun. 

Fur missile getting dummies 

Drove out and watched the evening fly over a few blocks on Medicine Lake.

No action but a nice view. 

Jumped a couple Buffleheads on Black. June got some practice and I got some delicious pan seared breasts. Mo got a house that smelled like fish for 10 hours. 

Post walk. 

Scouting turned into a quick evening hunt with zero birds seen. 

June in between dummy retrieves.

 She's guarding the pile of shotgun trash left behind by actual human trash. 

Is this thing on? Dog in boat. 

Can you use this in town? 

Can you hit your car on the first shot?

Quail are surprising, pheasant are elusive, and Washington made me pay for three days to go hunt for a couple hours. Thanks Washington. 

Looked promising, got out there, saw birds all day at 80 yards. So many greenies, so zero opportunities. 

Bob D. Day Three at Killarney.

So obviously you can see my results for the day.  I'd have to call it a success because this is the first and possibly only time I will have shotten a DRAKE widgeon.  He sure is handsome. 

Clider was supposed to go with me today. We had planned a day of hunting to offset our busy schedules and, with the best of intentions set a mid week Wednesday as our time to go escape from the world around us.  Clider has been out a few more times than I have and his scouting reports are always helpful but when he called and told me he had to cancel due to work obligations, (something Fred G. knows all to well) I decided on a closer trip.  Killarney is not far and I hadn't been there this year.  I figured the kayak and I could get to the other side of the lake in no time and be ready to hunt with little trouble.

I was of course wrong.  After I put the boat in the water I picked a spot on the horizon that I knew was the other side of the lake where we had had success before.  I started paddling and with my headlamp off could clearly see where I was going.  Before long I got to the jetty that denotes the close side of the river channel and to my surprise it was massive.  The water level was lower than I have ever sen it before.  I had to paddle almost all the way back to the boat ramp to get around the jetty and out into the lake.  Great.  After a good 15 minutes of extra upper body workout I was in the clear and out to my spot.  I set a nice spread and built a perfect and comfortable blind.  The ducks were sure to come in shortly.

Nothing.  Nothing at all for at least the first hour of shooting time.  Nothing quacking, nothing flying, nothing at all.  Then the Russians showed up.  They set out from the boat ramp by paddling their boat until the water got deep, loudly speaking their Commie language and laughing, until the motor was started.  After that they fished from spot to spot until they crossed in front of my blocks 500 or so yards out.  Then the sun finally broke the surface of the water and ducks came in. The first set surprised me but the second did not.  The widgeon came with a group of 5 and I winged him with my second shot.  I waited, not moving and spooking him to swim away, he finally came back to me and just as I was ready to put him down the mallards came in.  Dropped the Greenie with one shot, finished the Widgeon with the second and missed another on the third. 

Then nothing at all.  for 2 hours.  I pulled up and as I ate my sammy on the tailgate the Communist fisherman came back to port.  Turns out they were rather nice, we chatted aboot fishing and hunting and water levels and such.  Then I left.  day 3.

Ahhh Says the Only Man That Can Cil a Duck on His Birthday

Cliffy and I decided to get our acts together and go hunting, go figure two weeks after opening day.  Weather has been cold here but no precipitation and none in sight.  

We leave at an early 5 am to procure our spot at the sanctuary. With a 6:24 starting time we thing that will give us plenty of time to hike out, find a spot, build a blind and have time for the ever important settle.  We arrive at the lot only to find a homeless person sleeping in their car, no other hunters are there.  "Strange" I thought.  We hike down to the water  and when we arrive we find no water.  Maybe the reason there are no other hunters?  Or maybe it's bring your childrens hunting day?  

We tack on some extra hiking time and finally find a spot that has water close enough to land where we can build a blind without having a 50 yard shot.  Throw blocks out, build a blind and 2 minutes to settle.  Some encouraging birds fly through our spread just as the bell went off, and then a few more.  Then the sun rose and blistered our still spread and shone a light on us.  Nothing more.  Dog walkers walked through our area not noticing us though.

On the walk out we reminisced about the days of old, prickers, water and being youthful.  Cliffy the only man that Cil on his birthday.

GBCH

It's Good To Be Back?

 So.
After wondering if I would be done with the blog forever it seems that Clider has spurred me into action.  He actually posted something about his hunting exploits and I have to admit I felt a little twinge of jealousy.  See, I like writing about all the good and bad things that happen out there in the blind.  All the moments when fat banded Greenies come floating down into our perfect decoy spread, locked up, waiting to meet all 3 inches of steel coming from the Benelli I hold in my cold frozen hands.  Other times I think about sitting at my computer wasting my time trying to entertain the thousands of readers that we don't have.

Well, I chose the Blog.  I chose to not waste my time, because for me at least, this is my way to remember and catalogue all the ways I enjoy myself out in the blind.  Out in nature the way Heston intended.  Freezing cold and trying to remember what time I have to get home in time for Judge Judy.  And sometimes it actually works out the way we hope.  Benellis blazing and ducks folding. So, without further adieu, welcome back old friends.  Here goes.

These photos show how the second half of my day went.  The fist half was spent kicking out some yard work and picking up my Sweeties car from its month long fixes at the mechanic.  Now, the Escalanch is free to spend its time with the kayak on top, waiting to burn lots of gas going out to hunt rather than being a poor choice for a daily driver.

I took my car to Cabellas wonderland of 'stuff I need' and boughten two decoy riplers with the gift cards my dear Mother gave me for being such a good Son.  Thanks Mom!  Turns out that the boys at Duck Commander will give you a free duck call if you send them a copy of your receipt.  I sent them a nice note thanking them and also inviting them to check out the Blog.  (Welcome New Readers!)  Then I came home and starting thinking.  "What else could I be doing?" I asked.  Clearly the only answer was to wash my Dakotas in the sink and set them out to dry on the counter overnight.  washing them with a hose seems pretty disrespectful to me afterall. The last time Clider and I went out a couple days ago they were not so pretty.  That's right!  We went out last week!  Didn't hear aboot that?  Well, that's because I didn't blog then.  Aren't you glad I'm back?

So, stay tuned.  I'm going out sometime this week to try out my new motion bag.  3 different rippling decoys and a newly streamlined jerk rig with the cleanest Dakotas around.  I'm going to slay for sure.
GBCH

Don't call it a comeback?

It's been a while, a lot has happened since my last post. Peat, our dear friend and retriever of many would be NRs passed suddenly, leaving a large hole in our hunting presence.  Junebug moved into position as new dog, second best retriever, and all around good girl.  I changed jobs, which led to a sharp decline in hunting days for 2018/19. My "mud boat" was sold and I moved into a kayak, which I then sold in order to get a larger kayak to fit the second best retriever. But now it's time to bring back the blog, at least for one post. We'll see if it sticks.

Junebug- New dog. 

Opening day came and went a while back, but no one could be bothered to go duck hunting. Otis was in town for a few days and decided we should give it a try to see if we still enjoyed it. So, I headed out and did a bit of scouting and found lots of little birds scattered around the normal spots, and one swampy zone that had mallards spread out in small numbers, with more birds circling.

Since Bob D has decided not to hunt this year, it was an easy ask to borrow the back up kayak. Otis and I headed out in the dark to try this spot that we've only hunted once before. Junebug had to stay at home for this one, as there was absolutely no where for her to stand outside the boat. At first it was brushy, and the boats were heavy. Then it was muddy, and the boats were heavy. Then it was still muddy, and finally we could paddle. We had to hop out and drag our boats through some of the smelliest mud I've been in to date. The whole time we were kicking up mallards, and I began to think that all of the birds that left would be leaving for good.  The grass was short from what we could see, except in places with almost no open water. So we decided to set up next to a 15x20 open puddle, with our blocks only inches from us. It was dark and finding a good spot was impossible with every step being a workout. Things look further away in the dark, but in this case it was easy to reach an arm out and adjust the spread. We hid the boats in another tuft of tall grass and settled into our hole with water up around our waists.

Open water, nice. 

We were concerned about the boot sucking knee deep mud and and weeds being a great place to rack up NRs, but we decided we would only shoot up close. As shooting time hit, so did the birds. Otis and I each got one in the first few minutes, and then all hell broke loose. There were so many opportunities that we stopped shooting and just watched at times. A literal duck tornado descended on us, with greenies landing everywhere around us. I decided to just let Otis shoot, and sat back to enjoy the swirling ducks, the sound of feathers cutting the air, and feet splashing. When half of the tornado was down, Otis started shooting. It was pure chaos. Birds were flying within in inches of our heads at times. We wanted to get our birds, but there were too many opportunities. We each kept holding back expecting the other to shoot, which lead to neither of us taking some excellent opportunities.

After about 30 minutes, I had three birds to locate and Otis had two. The first one I went for was the only one I had concerns about finding. A hen mallard was laying feet up, and she had a band on her leg. The next one was a fat greenie, also where expected. But the third, a greenie I thought, was no where to be found. Otis and I each looked for a while, and finally after working up a massive amount of sweat, I had to take a break. Otis brought back a hen mallard that had sailed behind us, and another that dropped 15' in front of the blind. This was my first NR in two years, and I was pretty bummed.

After the initial 45 minutes, the action slowed to a crawl. We didn't want to take anything remotely long, we missed opportunities because we were talking, and the grass the made up our blind wasn't really thick enough to hide us anymore. We had a turd in punchbowl theme to our spread, and everything smelled in line with the theme. We stayed at it until 9:30, when I scooped up a bonus widgeon that had been flirting with our spread for a while.  That was a nice cap to the day, so we decided to look for my NR again before we started dragging our boats around to clean up. As we left the tiny bit of open water where our blocks were floating, Otis looked back and told me to stop. At my knees was the missing bird, a hen widgeon who's brown feathers had her blending perfectly with the churned up mud and weeds.

Wings are collected and cleaned for a USGS study. I'm hoping to fill a lot of these envelopes this year. 

We finished packing up and headed back home, all birds accounted for thanks to "expert" marksmanship and sticktoitiveness.  On the way out we dragged out boats past a big open piece of water with tall grass butting up against it, an ideal place to set up next time. The band, well no one filed the paper work for the band yet, so I'd guess it was banded locally this year. Junebug is primed and we'll be heading out solo soon, somewhere with plenty of place for long walks on the beach.

Only the smartest birds get caught and banded.