With Mags by my side, I was that guy, who would put out three dozen decoys to maybe get a chance at a bird for the pup, that guy that walked 45 minutes in waist deep water to get to the spot that wasn't as good, but was less crowded, to maybe shoot a duck, but in my loss I failed to see the single greenhead for the flock. I was wrong...yes the dawgs take our obsession to a whole new level but it is still a draw without our four legged friends. Lucky for me, I am part of a waterfowl "crew" (I hate that word and its incredible over use in today's hunt world). A close friend drug me out to the river recently and though we had action we never fired a shot...and it was a great day! For that I thank him for reminding me why we do the crazy things we do.
The passion we have for an endeavor that is so much more than a sport...is never ending, even when buried deep like I have recently experienced. The good news is once you are in this world, and have experienced the fire, the true love of fowling will never leave. The incredible part is it can mean so much for so many different brethren of the fowl...yet be exactly the same for each of us.
No one understands eternal optimism and anticipation like a waterfowl enthusiast, to the fine line of anticipation and optimism in August, for the coming months, or the same qualities in December for the coming minutes of dawn. The quirks of the waterfowl world extend far beyond normal human interaction...and in fact I insult us all by implying that humans are normal outside the fowling world. I fully believe that if the ways of the world and this great country of ours were to be handled in a duck blind, we would have substantially less problems in society and more cool stuff built out of things laying around the shed.
That industrial, ingenious approach is bred out of necessity to constantly adjust to the wild birds we pursue. But after all the tricks, gimmicks and high dollar spreads, sometimes the birds decide the most appealing spot is straight out of the double secret playbook....those days where the hunter continually says "never seen that before" make for special times.
A goose in a timber hole...or a front yard...mallards in a bathtub sized hole in the middle of nowhere, a once in a lifetime bird in a cow pasture, or a bullet proof ringneck on a farm pond...they all seem to find a way to add something every day that make the frozen, uneventful mornings, worth coming back and doing it all over again. The uniqueness, however, is in the companions. I can truly say I have never been bored in the blind, naturally there are hunts where the birds don't cooperate, but that only feeds into the tall tales and dreams of the waterfowler past, present, and future. Reliving hunts, making plans, and laughing about past misfortunes of friends and family are something my solitary bowhunting passion never has a place for. For that I admit I was wrong...for me, for us, it isn't "just" about the dogs, its about the experience...
Its about having your skirt blown up on the 100th time you see cupped wings and feet down...just as you did the first time; about the shock of a lone "hrrrronk" on a quiet day, the squeak of wings, the look on a young or old mans face the first time he drops a bird, the amazement of all of them coming and none of them leaving...and the shock of all of them committing...and none of them staying.
There are too many experiences to list but as I close this rambling of random thoughts, my wish for my fowling friends out there is that you are blessed with a lifetime of cupped wings, wet and happy dawgs, a whiff of gun powder on a cold November morning, the sound of silence between the boom...and the splash, breakfast on a kerosene heater, and that feeling you get when they do it right....
