Due to circumstances both beyond and...within my control, my battle with
a specific buck in 2012, a reignited fire with the whitetail woods, and
all that particular obsession has to offer, I have recently found it
hard to squeeze in a waterfowl hunt. I must admit I am still not over
the loss of my pups (of thirteen years) and I have joked many times to
my fowling friends that without the dawgs...I would rather bowhunt.
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....
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