Hunting with Jorge

One year in Argentina, the outfitter was spread pretty thin due to scheduling multiple hunting parties. Daniel stayed at his lodge, Roger stayed down at Estel's goose ranch and they left the duck hunting to the senior bird boy - Jorge Alvarez. Jorge and I hit it off from the very beginning. My first hunt in Argentina, I was in a group of 8 hunters. When we got all squared away with gun permits and export permits at the airport, they hauled us to the first ranch in a large van. All the other hunters were small groups of friends, so I was the odd man out. I sat in the passenger seat in the front of the van because all the buddies wanted to sit together, it made perfect sense. Well, Jorge was our driver. He spoke no English and I spoke no Spanish so we pointed at things and grinned and shared the sights of the trip. None of the other hunters were smokers, so it was a no smoking ride for me, whatever. When we made our first rest stop, I didn't go into the restaurant with everybody else, but stayed outside and smoked a couple Luckies. I saw Jorge refueling the van, then light a cigarette. We hung out smoking while the others had a snack and then got back on the road. After about 40 minutes, Jorge made an announcement that we needed to pull over because he had to add some oil to the van. A couple of the other guys spoke Spanish, so we all got the message. I stepped out of the van to see if I could be of any help and Jorge motioned me to come around to the front with him. He opened the hood then pulled out a pack of smokes and offered me one. I declined, but lit my own Lucky Strike. We smoked for a few minutes and then closed up the hood and got back in the van and drove on.

At our next rest stop, again I stayed outside and Jorge brought me out a cup of coffee and we burned one. A little side note; that was my first cup of Argentinian coffee and it was delicious. Anyhow, a while later, Jorge announced the van was overheating and we needed to stop for a few minutes for him to add some water. I got out to help and we had a smoke and then drove on to the ranch. It became our little private joke and Jorge and I shared a smoke break every chance we got for the whole week. That small common bond turned into a fast friendship. That was several years ago and we still exchange Christmas cards and emails.

Back to the story. We did our duck hunting near Bragado, a fairly famous small town. Jorge apparently was a duck hunter all his life and really understood how to hunt and how to make us hunters enjoy the hunting. We did something different each morning and afternoon. One morning he took us to a private Argentinian hunting club. I have no idea how he had a membership, but it was a really neat place. Some natural ponds and some man made that were ideal for duck shooting. The terrain was more varied than the places we had hunted the first year, so we had a great number of species of birds. We shot everything from Whistling ducks to Swans. It was fantastic. I killed my Coscoroba Swan there. A few had passed us a little out of range for our #5 duck loads, but one ventured too close to our decoys. I put a good head shot on the bird and saw him absorb the hit and saw the blood spreading on his head and neck, but he flew on. Fortunately for me he only made it to the field behind our pothole and I retrieved him after the hunt.

Another morning we went out on a large lake. That was the only time I ever went out in a motor boat to a blind in Argentina, all my other hunts have been wade in hunts. Out on that big lake we again killed a great array of birds. I killed my first ever Fulvous Whistling duck and a Black Necked Swan that morning. The lake was full of Swans, but again, none flew close enough for me to be comfortable with taking the shot with duck loads. Then a fully mature bird came loafing by only about 10 yards off the water. I dropped him stone dead and it actually fell in the boat where we had it tied up in the reeds behind the blind. Pretty cool.

One afternoon of that hunt we had some really foul weather, or maybe fowl weather. Got fairly cold and the wind picked up a lot and just about the time we got to the pothole to hunt it started sleeting really hard. We killed 95 ducks in a half hour. They were pouring into that little pothole in a cornfield by the hundreds. I actually stopped the shooting well before dark. My gunning partner was miserably wet and cold and I wanted to make sure we got all the ducks gathered up before it got dark. Once we counted the birds I was sort of sorry that we hadn't made it an even 100, but it was fine.

Another morning of that hunt Jorge put me in a tiny pothole in the middle of a huge cattail marsh. I only had about a quarter of an acre of open water. No flocks of ducks came in the whole morning. But singles and pairs gave me steady action. I killed pairs of 7-8 different species than morning. Actually had one triple on Silver Teal, but don't remember anything else but singles and pairs. The other hunters had more shooting than I did that morning, but all of them shot together and killed about 50 spoonbills and only a couple other birds. So I still felt I had the better shoot.

As things go, that was the last hunting I did with Jorge. He unfortunately became very ill the following year and didn't do any guiding. Then had a bad car wreck which had him laid up for quite a while. I did hunt with his son one week, he took up the bird boy job just as his father had done. Jorge runs his own guide service now. Very small outfit that hunts big game only. I hope that he gets back to the ducks some day, I'd enjoy hunting with him again.

Fall and Winter

The first day I see a yellow or red leaf blowing south down the street I start to feel more alive. For my entire life, each year I have looked forward to the coming of cold weather. As a child it meant Halloween, Thanksgiving and Santa Claus. As I got a little older, it meant football season and the holidays and hunting season. Now that I am an old man it means the arthritic joints will ache, my hands and feet will lose another few layers of skin, my frozen ears will swell and burn as they thaw, my eyes will water and become raw from the cold wind.

But the ducks will come.

Seeing and hearing that first flock of migrating Canada Geese, spotting the first raft of Bluebills on the river, frost on the ground, ice along the banks of the marshes, the duck hunters life begins anew.

How many mornings have I eased down a frosty boat ramp? How many decoys have I set out? How many high brass #5's have I fed into my 870? How many times have I pulled off an already wet glove to take a duck from my dog? How many times have I made a loop on my strap to hold another duck? How many times have I poured a lidfull of lukewarm coffee from my old metal thermos? How many reeds and pine limbs have I cut to cover the blind? How many times have I patched up my waders? How many times have I tried to position the dog just right, to get a good picture of the day's hunt? How many nights have I stood alone in the cold water, winding decoys cords with cold, stiff hands? How many long drives home trying to stay awake? How many feathers have I plucked from my birds? How many times have I watched my dog laying down by his food pan, almost too tired to eat his supper? How many strokes of the cleaning rod, how many swipes with an oily rag for my trusted shotgun? How many lunches have I packed for the next day? How many extra minutes sleep did I miss; drying gloves and waders? How many nights have I lain in bed saying my prayers with the flutter of duck wings behind my closed eyelids?

How many more days do I have to enjoy the wonders of Fall and Winter?

Not enough.

Cold Hunt in Hyde County

When my sons were about 10 and 11 I took them up to Hyde County for a late season Swan hunt. Being new to hunting they barely had enough hunting clothes to keep warm in October, much less January, much less the coldest 2 day hunt I was ever on in North Carolina.

They tried their best for 2 days, but just couldn't put down a Swan. Too frozen and too bundled up in a dozen layers of camo T-shirts to shoulder their guns, much less knock down a bird.

After the first day we decided to stay over and try again. Stayed at the old hunting camp at Lowland, split an MRE for supper and all slept in the same bed to try to keep warm. No luck again the second day. We had to call it quits (the season ran out). But I'm sure they would have stayed with me until hell froze over.

Their Mother was not overly pleased that they both got real sick and missed a bunch of school. But you can't kill them if you're not out hunting. They recovered, and now, for the rest of their lives they won't ever back out of a hunting trip due to the weather. If they survived that hunt when they were just little boys, they are good to go.

Quick on the Trigger

I consider myself a pretty fast shot. Many times I get the single that comes by. Partly because I hunt harder than anyone else, and partly because I can shoot pretty quick. Competing with other good shots will help make you fast. For a period in my life I probably tried to shoot too fast, trying to beat the competition. But I got over it. I began to sacrifice accuracy for speed, so I forced myself to slow down a little and make the shots count.

When I started my sons hunting they both struggled with shouldering their long 870's. Just like all young hunters, it took a while before they grew into their guns. Then their speed started to pick up. By 15 years old they were both blistering fast shots. I recall a single Ringneck that made a thousand mile an hour pass over our decoys up on Catfish Lake Impoundment. I saw the bird and never even attempted to shoulder my gun. Mike tumbled it out of the air. It was one of the most impressive shots I've seen, much less by a youngster.

Might have bragged him up a little too much over the years about his speed, because he developed a tendency to short-shuck his 870, trying for more speed.

Whatever. The shot he made on that Ringneck really showed me that he had arrived.

A year or so later we were hunting at the Spring Creek Impoundment when Kevin showed some speed. It was mid-morning and I thought the shooting was about over. Coming from the wrong direction I saw a small flock of Teal (I thought) coming across the marsh, real low and coming really fast. I hollered out to the boys to try them on and before I could get a shot off, Mike had one and Kevin had a pair down. All three birds fell within 10 feet of us due to their momentum. I was impressed. Even though I had mis-identified them and they were actually Ruddy Ducks, it was some fast shooting.

If you want to be the best, you have to beat the best.

South Wind

Out at our blind on Rhodes Point a south wind usually isn't good. South and Southeast winds just don't work for that blind. Thank goodness we don't get much wind from that direction during the season. I have tried radical changes to the decoy spread, but it pretty much just spells disaster on a South wind.

Except once.

One Winter, a few years ago, we had terrible luck with the wind all season. It seemed like most every day 2-3 little mini-fronts would go across the area and change the wind direction. We had days that year that I completely reset the decoy spread 3 times in a day. A lot of work. Made me very conscious of how each brand of decoy I used rode the wind and tide a little differently. Since that year I have quit using some brands of decoys completely. I also went to the same exact decoy cord on all my decoys. Hard to believe, but when the wind and the tide were opposite, some cords would float or sink differently than others and cause the decoys not to line up properly. So, I learned from the experience, but it was tough on me when I was fighting it all day, every day.

One morning we started out on a due North wind. It was forecast to switch to Southwest over the course of the day and die down slightly. Kelly and I had a friend with us that morning and we shot ducks really good. Had a big limit down in just a couple hours. My friend asked if it would be OK to go get some other hunter he knew who had never shot any Bluebills. Thought it would be a great day for his buddy's first diver hunt. I told him he was welcome to go get the guy, but that the weather was supposed to change and I didn't know how well it would go in the afternoon. He said he would take a chance.

He took all the ducks home with him , so we could start fresh when he got back with his friend. Kelly and I just napped and ate up all our snacks for a couple hours waiting on them to get back. The wind started coming around so I reset the blocks for Southwest. Well the wind stopped in the South and really picked up. Probably got up to 20-25 mph. The tide was low so we had whitecaps right in front of the blind. Didn't look promising at all when the other guys got back.

Kelly and I had both shot well that morning and that continued through the afternoon. We were getting a shot every now and then and Kelly and I were really working them over. I adjusted the decoys one last time and that was the trick. The Bluebills started picking up our trailers about 150 yards downwind of the blind and riding that wind right into the pocket. We were waiting on them. The other guys were having trouble hitting the birds (it was pretty sporty with that much wind) but Kelly had her best shooting day of all time. I don't think she missed a bird, and I don't remember missing any either.

The other guys shot a lot and had a lot of fun. So it worked out to be a great day. Now every time we get a stiff South wind, Kelly reminds me that "it could happen" again.

The Evening Flight

When you are hunting puddleducks, you can find places where a late afternoon hunt can be spectacular. I have hunted many an afternoon on Hermit Island. About an hour before quitting time the Mallards, Wood Ducks and Teal head for Blackbird Basin and you can have some great times.

I can remember back in the 80's when we used to hunt the Goose Creek Impoundment quite a bit. Shooting was always red hot the first hour. Sky-busting was also at it's zenith, unfortunately. Later in the morning things would even out, most of the skunk hunters would head for Sally's and you could enjoy good steady shooting. But in the afternoon, the Pintails would decoy like I've never seen them. Many times you could go out on the open water and shoot divers and seaducks till noon, and then have plenty of time to get a limit of Pintails on the Impoundment. Even when they shortened the shooting hours, 1200-1300 was as good as it gets for the Pintails.

Diver shooting in the afternoon has been fairly weak over the years for me. Until about 10 years ago. When we moved further down the New River we started getting fantastic late afternoon Bluebill shoots. Our blind at Rhodes Point faces East, so in the late afternoon the sun is going down over your right shoulder and the lower it gets on the horizon, the more spectacular the birds look. The patch of white on the hens' faces looks so big. The bright blue of the bills and those bright yellow eyes look big as quarters. That soft, setting sun, the wind laying down as it frequently does towards sundown, and the Bluebills coming in flocks of 10-1000 makes for about the finest duck shooting I've seen in my life. When the wind dies down and the waves quit breaking on the shore, the sound of the wind in 50 Bluebill wings, when they turn on your blocks, is fantastic. The birds are looking for someplace quiet and peaceful to spend the evening and once they start heading into the bay just south of us, there seems to be no stopping them.

Kelly shot a video one evening and in 10 minutes of video we had 10,000 birds on film. We actually watched it in super slow motion and tried our best to count the birds. They were all passing within 25-75 yards or our blind. One of the most amazing things you'll ever see.

When we would finish shooting and get out in the River to start taking in decoys, the birds wouldn't stop. Flock after flock still landing in our ever shrinking spread. They would be between us on the water. Between us and the blind, between us and the dog. Unbelievable.

There were slow days on the River when I sat in the blind from 0600 till 1630 and never fired a shot. Then in the last 30 minutes you would truly have your gun barrel too hot to touch. Knowing that an evening like that was coming our way made the long days in the blind easy to handle. Nap, snack, nap, snack, shoot an occasional stray duck, and bide your time till the Evening Flight.

Game Wardens

I don't expect anybody but myself to be perfect. But, there are certain expectations when it comes to law enforcement personnel. The following stories briefly tell of a few Game Wardens that didn't quite make the grade. But they also relate stories about a few Game Wardens that were nice guys first and law enforcers second.

Game warden ticketed McGee for hunting over corn at Hospital Point. Took his gun away from him, claiming that McGee was threatening. McGee had to deploy so he called the court and mailed in his fine. Warden never returned his gun. I went to the warden's house and took the gun and he threatened to shoot me. Went on to become Game Warden of the Year and got promoted to Sergeant.

A game warden looked over a blind we had on the Pamlico River, adjacent to the State Game Lands and informed us that we were "barely legal". Whit asked him if that was similar to being "sort of pregnant". He hounded us for several years after that.

Game warden in Pamlico County got his head caved in by a poacher. Truly a bad deal. His replacement came up to our blind the following year and told us he was just a couple years away from retirement and that he hoped we could get along. Never checked us in any way. Stopped by to get a cup of coffee each day he saw us hunting, but never bothered us. He is still enjoying his retirement.

Game warden stopped 3 of us coming out of the Goose Creek Impoundment one day and told us not to move or speak. Pretty bold order. The other 2 hunters pretty much did as he said and I ignored him completely. When he came to check me he threatened around a little and I offered him my wrists. He knew the law, just tried to bluff and bully people.

Had a game warden ask to check my Dad's double barrel shotgun, to see if it would hold more than 3 shells.

Had a game warden try to lick my duck stamp, to stick it to my license.

Had a game warden try to wade in 5 feet of water in hip boots. More than once.

Had a game warden run his boat ashore on the New River and had to come and ask for help to get off the rocky beach. Then came to the blind and gave me grief because we were putting all our birds on one duck strap and couldn't prove who had killed each of them.

Had a game warden make large, circling passes in his big Parker boat, out at the mouth of the Pamlico River, to move some birds around for us. He also got a hot cup of coffee whenever he stopped by.

Had a game warden mysteriously find corn near every blind on the New River. Ticketed every hunter on the river all Winter. When I asked him if there was any place left that I could hunt without getting a ticket he told me to try any place I wanted and he'd find corn there. Went on to be Game Warden of the Year, wait I already mentioned that.

Had a huge task force of game wardens come to Pamlico Point the last day of the season for several years. One checked us, that didn't even know what the species of birds were. He said he was from the mountains and just worked on bear poachers for 25 years. He drank some coffee and left.

The Dropped Glove

Years ago, Mike McGee and I were hunting out of one of Whitfield's blinds on the Pamlico River. To prevent storm damage to the blinds he built, he only framed them in, then nailed a heavy fence wire on as the sides and floor. He tied grass to the sides and carried a couple pieces of plywood out hunting with him to throw down on the wire for someplace to stand.

Well, McGee and I didn't take any plywood, because we never knew which blind, or where we would be hunting. We just stood on the floor joists and tried not to fall through the wire floor.

Anyhow, this one particular day was cold and windy and miserable. A great duck day. We started shooting shortly after daylight and were killing Bluebills and Scoter in alarming numbers. I was doing something and took off one of my gloves and it dropped through the wire floor and fell into the water beneath the blind. It was the first Gortex-Thinsulate pair of gloves I was ever able to afford and I didn't want to lose it. I shouted for McGee (who was hunting on the end with the door) to please jump out real quick and retrieve my glove before it sank or floated away.

He hopped out and grabbed my glove. Before he could climb back into the blind, a flock of Bluebills came by and I killed a triple. He cussed me for half an hour over that. Pretty much in good fun, but I could tell he was a little upset. After a while, I saw another nice flock of 'Bills coming our way. I pulled off my other glove and threw it through the floor and hollered for him to grab it for me. He grinned and said sorry, then came up shooting.

I eventually rescued the glove and we both had a good laugh over it. I had some really cold, wet hands, but at the time it was a good joke.

Getting Wet

Everybody that duck hunts gets wet periodically. Some more than others. Seems like I have been wet more than anybody I've ever hunted with. Partly due to my own clumsiness, partly due to always being in a hurry, but mostly due to me doing all the odd jobs. You know what I mean; breaking up ice in the decoys, putting the boat away, working the dog, putting out and adjusting decoys. Not that some of my hunting partners don't offer to help, it's just that I seem to always be the one who had the idea to do the odd jobs, so they sort of become my responsibility.

First time I ever had a scare while out duck hunting, I was out wading in Blackbird Basin shooting Teal. It was fairly shallow water, I was just wearing hip boots. I got a little too close to the edge of a dredged channel trying to pick up a dead bird and my feet just slipped off the edge of the foot and a half water into over-my-head deep water. I held my gun up above my head, but one foot get entangled in the roots of a tree that was submerged. My buddy came to try to help me, and he said I was under water for almost 2 minutes before he saw me come to the surface.

Another time at Indian Lake I was out in the decoys breaking up ice. A larger that I thought sheet of ice was coming at the decoys and I went out on the leading edge of the decoys and was breaking it into smaller pieces that would float on through the decoys. Well, it got too thick to break and it started pushing be backwards. I tripped over a snag and fell backwards and the ice floated over top of me while I was trying to get loose from the snag and get back up. I was barely able to catch the leading edge of the ice and with a mighty effort pulled myself up so I could get my head above water and held on till dad waded out and gave me a hand.

Whit got a good laugh one time when I went swimming at Spring Creek. We were walking opposite directions around the impoundment, jump shooting ducks. I saw 2 nice drake Wigeon sitting on a log and spent a few minutes sneaking up on them. When I got to the closest point I could reach, I took one step off the dike into the water and went in out of sight. Again, I kept my gun out of the water. But other than my hat floating off, I was pretty well drenched. I had managed to kill the 2 birds though. When I met back up with Whit he asked me what had happened and I just shook my head and asked if he had a dry cigarette. He was highly amused by the whole affair.

Out at our blind on Rhodes Point there is an old tree trunk under water about 20 yards out in the front of the blind. When the water is clear you can see it easily. In the dark, putting out decoys, I am always careful to wade out and find that log first thing and drop a decoy on it so I can avoid it. But every couple seasons I seem to forget about it when I am either rearranging decoys or out working the dog on multiple kills. Each time I get mad and everybody in the blind just cracks up laughing. Some day it will be their turn to spend the rest of the day cold and wet.

Back at Oldfield Island I had a disappointing fall one time. It was real cold and the little slip we had made to hide the boat was frozen over. First thing in the morning when I tried to put the boat away I slipped on the ice and slid down into the water. Filled my waders. Like I said it was really cold and I tried to hang tough, but after a couple hours I was really hurting. Dad ran me back to the cottage and I changed clothes and put on a different pair of waders. When we got back to the blind about 100 Mallards and 30 Canada Geese were sitting in our decoys. I was crushed. But I just couldn't have held out any longer without something freezing off. We killed a couple birds that day, but...

One time McGee and I got caught in a really freaky winter storm while we were hunting at Catfish Lake. By the time we got the decoys picked up we were both in water up to our chins. It was warm out at the time, but by the time we got home it was cold. When I pulled Mike from the seat of my Jeep it tore the vinyl seat. He was frozen completely to it. I'm pretty sure he never rode in my Jeep again after that day.

The last day Cain and I hunted in a beaver swamp I got wet. I had tied him to a tree to steady him and I had waded about 6 feet out from the tree to hide in a little bush. He got to whining and making a commotion before shooting time and I attempted to take a couple steps back towards him to clobber him. I had my gun slung over my shoulder (an important rule of wading is not to wade with your gun slung on your shoulder) slipped on a log below the surface and fell in and broke the stock out of my Benelli.

I know getting wet comes with duck hunting, but it always takes me by surprise when I mess up and fall in. But at least I always provide my hunting partners with a big laugh.

Layout Boat

I had heard of layout boats and seen pictures of them, but had never hunted from one. When I started hunting with Morris Whitfield I came to find out that he had a 2-man layout boat. He had hunted with a guide on Mitchell Bay and had a layout boat built by the guide after the season. Drove all the way up there to pick it up. Then when he got it back down here, most guys weren't interested in hunting from it for one reason or the other. I eventually bought the boat from Whit and never hunted from it. I gave it away a year or so ago with the deal that the new owner would invite me to hunt with him. I don't think he got around to hunting from it all season. The problem with that big layout boat was that you had to trailer it to wherever you were hunting, then tow it behind your boat. Very seldom do I have a big enough crowd of hunting partners to be able to do that. You also want your partners to be good enough sailors to operate the tender when you are in the layout boat. I don't often have that luxury. So I let it go in hopes that the new owner could get some use out of it and that maybe I'd get a chance to hunt it again. But the few times I hunted from the boat with Whitfield it was a killing machine.

We shot Scoter from it for a couple seasons. Scoter aren't all that bright in the first place, and the layout boat almost made it a slaughter instead of a hunt. We used 26 inch barrels with Improved Cylinder chokes and still had to be careful not to shoot the birds up too badly. The ducks literally came within arms reach of the boat. We shot a limit every time we hunted it and with my Dad to run the tender it worked out great. Whit was left-handed so it made for a perfect shooting situation. We set the decoys in a teardrop pattern directly astern of the boat and each of us just shot on our side.

One day we had a bit of a fiasco. Steel shot had become mandatory and we were cheating a little. Anyhow, we were laying there in the boat when Dad radioed us and said a 'strange' boat was coming our way. Didn't look too strange to me, but Whit was always in a turmoil with the local Game Warden and he thought it was the "man" and told me to get rid of my lead shells. I had only taken a few lead reloads with me so it wasn't that big of a deal. Until, in the process of unloading my 870 I had a shell run back under the shell lifter and jam my whole gun. No way to get it out except to disassemble the gun. All you 870 shooters know what I'm talking about. I can take my 870 apart pretty quickly, but laying on your back in a pitching layout boat increases the difficulty level just a little. I got it cleared before the 'strange' boat got there. Whit didn't have any trouble getting rid of his lead shells. He pitched 4 full boxes of expensive shells over the side.

The 'strange' boat turned out to be a couple old fishermen who came to see what the strange looking boat we were in was all about. That made Whit so mad that he called for Dad to come pick him up and he chased the old men clear to Pamlico Point hollering and cursing at them. Sort of overkill. Old "poacher Whit" was just mad about throwing $50 worth of shells over the side.

I see little 1-man layout boats all the time now and the hunters seem to love them. I may hunt that way again someday, because it was fun. But all the work involved makes it a bit much when you have a nice big stake blind to hunt from.

Picking Your Shots

I think I've already said that when I am duck hunting the drake is always on my side. Not that I hog my hunting partners' shots, but I have spent a good portion of my hunting with beginners. I love teaching youngsters and new hunters. When you have a new hunter with you and you get a chance at a nice drake, sometimes you have to claim it for yourself and let the newby try to get any duck that they can. Sometimes it is an old timer who maybe isn't quite the shot they used to be. I remember an occasion when I had to sort of take charge when I was hunting with my Dad.

I was on vacation and had no one else to hunt with except my Dad. Not that I didn't enjoy hunting with Dad, but he was getting old and couldn't really do much except barely climb in and out of the boat or the blind. Whatever, I was still fine with hunting with him. We caught some really bad luck on the weather. Had a full gale blowing for about 3-4 straight days. Really limited where we could hunt. Too rough to hunt the Pamlico Sound where we were doing most of our hunting those days. Dad couldn't wade in a marsh. So we were searching for someplace where we could get out of the wind and just hunt from the boat.

We decided to try the White Oak River one day. We hunted about halfway between Haywood Landing and Stella. Set up in the widest place in the river, right in the middle of a big bend. Pulled the boat up against the shore and put up a little boat blind that I had made. We saw a few Wood Ducks right at daylight and killed a couple. But didn't see anything then for a couple hours. Had a single Bluebill drake come by pretty far out and managed to cripple it. Took a half an hour to find it, but we eventually did. Dad wasn't shooting too good so far. We saw some Coot swim up in a little branch that ran off the river and Dad said he'd like to try to get them because he hadn't had any Coot gizzards in a while. I eased the boat up to where they had gone in and spied them on the water. Dad got in position as best he could and fired away. Never touched a feather. I killed a triple when they took off. I'm not bragging about that, just giving an account of the hunt :-)

Dad was a bit downcast at his poor shooting, but we kept hunting. A while later 3 Wigeon came up the river and right to the decoys. Dad was on the right and he shot the right hand bird. I shot the one in the middle then swung on the left hand bird and killed it. We were happy to have the 3 nice ducks down and sent Hoss to gather them up for us. Dad asked me what I was doing shooting the middle bird first? I told him that by doing that I was assured of getting a double because the last bird would be on my end. He thought it over for a minute and said that was sort of like cheating. I thought it over for a second and said it was sort of like being smart.

Fog

I hate the fog. Only one in a hundred foggy days have ever produced any ducks in my hunting experience. Fog has created some interesting situations for me over the years, mostly bad, but nothing terrible.

Dad and I launched at Gabby Atchinson's ramp one morning in the fog and headed for Walnut Island. We got our bearings (no compass of course) and Dad said he would face backwards in the boat and try to hold a perfectly straight course from watching the wake. I thought I could see a light out on the point of Walnut Island, so I was trying to stare at that. Well pretty soon I told Dad he needed to make a course correction. Then in a couple minutes another one. Pretty soon I could see that light real well and I knew we were home free. About then we hit the bank right next to Atchinson's. I had watched first one light then another and ended up heading right for the light on the boat ramp that we started from.

One morning we just ran out the Turkeyfoot Channel to the Mouth of the Channel Blind. We set up in terrible fog and got no shooting for a couple hours. Then suddenly a duck appeared. We shot it and were at least not "skunked". Pretty soon another duck came, then another, and so on. Before long we had a whole string of ducks that had all sailed right into the decoys out of thick fog. So sometimes fog is good!

Another day at Indian Lake I was hunting by myself during Teal Season and decided to try to run from Cree Park to Long Pond in the fog. Hard enough to make that run in broad daylight. But I made it. To this day I have no idea how I got there, other than dumb luck.

I floated down the Husitonic River in Connecticut one day in a canoe in the fog. One of my more mindless ideas. After giving up on being found alive, I saw a buoy in the creek and stopped and got my bearings. Paddled toward where I thought the shore would be and came to a boat ramp. 2 Black ducks were sitting on the bulkhead along the ramp and I shot them before they could even get their wings spread.

McGee and I went out into the Pamlico Sound one morning to hunt Scoter. After we were already set up the fog rolled in on us. We shot a few ducks and Hoss retrieved them, but once he went out of sight in the fog and I got a little concerned. He could apparently hear me whistle though, because he had no trouble finding his way back. We started getting concerned about noon when the fog hadn't lightened up all. We couldn't see the shore, had no compass, and not a clue how we would get back. We had sense enough to just stay anchored and eventually the fog lifted in mid-afternoon and we left in a hurry.

Out at Hospital Point we had a pair of Eider pass us wide one morning in the fog. They were heading up the river and a little while later we heard a splash and some whistling and eventually caught a couple glimpses of them out of gun range. When the fog cleared they were gone. We were crushed.

One morning at Rhodes Point, Kelly and I were hunting in the fog. All of a sudden a big duck appeared over our heads, coming from behind. I told Kelly not to shoot because it was a Black Duck, and the season was closed. Then I caught a glimpse of it's head and shot it. I had recognized the telltale shape of a Canvasback. What it had been doing back behind our blind over the pine forest I'll never know. Kelly still hasn't killed a Can and still holds a grudge for me mis-identifying that duck. Oh well.

I have seen it many times when their are plenty of ducks around, they just don't act right when there is fog. Even if the fog burns off shortly after sunrise, it seems the day is generally ruined if there was fog first thing in the morning.

The 'Pit' Blind

One day while hunting down in Argentina, I hunted ducks from a pit blind. Well sort of a pit blind. The terrible drought was making it tough to find a place to duck hunt. The huge marsh/lake/flooded field area where we had been hunting for a couple years was drying up fast. The bird boys were having to build new blinds each day to follow the receding water.

The senior bird boy and guide, Luis, always makes a strong effort to put me in a good shooting location. So, he really got creative one day. He went well out into the middle of what was left of the lake and found an exposed sand bar. It had been under water up until just a couple days before and had absolutely no cover on it. He dug a small pit and put about half of a plastic barrel down in the hole. You could sit upright on the sand and have your feet down in the 'pit'. He put a plastic tarp down to sit on and cut and carried brush from the shore. He planted all the cut brush around the shooting area and made a very effective blind. Well, the day I hunted it the barrel kept floating up and being a big nuisance, but he told me that within a couple days the water had gone down more and there was no water left to float the barrel. So maybe the next hunting party used it with a little more ease. But it was still a deadly blind.

The morning I used it, the bird boy that was assigned to me was the son of my old Argentinian friend Jorge. He was in his first year of working as a bird boy and was pretty nervous. Down in Argentina there are so many ducks that you don't really need much skill to hunt successfully. So the guides and bird boys don't necessarily know all that much about decoying birds. They just go to a spot where the birds are using and let the shear numbers of ducks dictate the success of the hunt. My bird boy, Martin, was a prime example of that. We waded out to the little island and he simply walked off to one side and threw a few decoys out in a big wad. Then he started to come back to the blind and set up the caller and give me my shells. I told him no, it wasn't going to work like that. I grounded my gear and we went out into the decoys and I showed him how to set up. I can't speak Spanish and he can't speak English, but I was able to explain what we needed to do. I explained to him about the wind and how the ducks would approach the blind. I gestured that we didn't want the rising sun to always be in my eyes. We picked up the mess that he had thrown out and went to the opposite side of the little island and set a simple J-pattern. I stuck my Mojo decoy right in the center of the pocket and we returned to the "pit" to start the hunt. The other hunters had been banging away for close to half an hour before we got ready. I guess the ducks had all seen us walking around and me gesturing and pointing so nothing came around for the first 30 minutes or so. I could tell Martin was getting even more nervous. I told him to relax and we'd get our birds. Once everything had settled down the ducks came to us real well. Pochards, Wigeon and Speckled Teal fly in flocks but other than that most all the birds down there fly in pairs or just singles. Makes for a really relaxed shoot if that is what you want.

I shot a few Rosy Bills and Wigeon, but the vast majority of my bag that day was Pintails. Both Yellow Billed and White Cheeked came to us all morning long. They work the decoys just like our Northern Pintails do here in the States, except with only about half the wariness, so it was a great shoot. The little 'pit' blind hadn't worked all that well, but it was a great shooting location. With the bugs ironed out I imagine it was the best location Rancho Salvaje had to hunt that year.

That evening Luis came to me and asked me to come outside. When I went out to see what he wanted, Martin was there and he had a cell phone in his hand. He gestured for me to answer the phone and it was his father Jorge. Jorge can't speak a lot of English but he thanked be over and over again for being patient with his son and taking the time to teach him how to set out the decoys properly. I love teaching new hunters here or there so I told him it was no problem. I told him how hard his son had worked to retrieve all 50 of my birds and that we had a great time hunting together that morning. It worked out well all around.

Permit Hunt

Several years ago here in NC, the Gamelands impoundments stopped being open to the public. You had to apply for permits that were awarded on a draw-names-out-of-a-hat system that the WRC set up. With the 'Brannen Luck' working for me, I rarely get drawn. But one time Whit and I got drawn for a hunt at Spring Creek.

I went up the afternoon before our hunt and scouted the impoundment. Walked up on a beautiful, big buck and saw my first ever Fulvous Tree Ducks. It snowed pretty hard while I was scouting and a lot of ducks were piling into the marsh. Literally thousands of Wigeon were crowded into that small impoundment. I was pretty excited about our chances.

Whit and I discussed what I had seen and we decided that there were so many wigeon around that we couldn't hardly go wrong on them, no matter where we set up. So we decided to hunt in the area of the marsh where I had seen the Fulvous ducks. We got up the next morning and the weather had changed for the worse. Warmed up and the sky completely cleared. The wind was fairly brisk, but from exactly the wrong direction for the spot we had chosen to hunt.

We were disappointed and pretty much confused on what to do. We weren't the most confused guys on the marsh though. One other hunter was there. He was supposed to meet up with a friend who knew the area, but the friend had cancelled. The guy asked us a few questions about the marsh and we filled him in. He also asked about the limits on ducks, particularly on Redheads. When he walked away we had a little chuckle. I doubt a Redhead had ever flown within 20 miles of that marsh. Whatever.

We talked it over and decided it was worth it to hunt a bad wind, and a bright sun in our face to try for the Fulvous ducks. I had never killed one and Whit had only gotten one. So we set up and hoped for the best. We had a great shoot. Never saw the tree ducks that we had hoped for, but Wigeon were on us all morning. We took turns shooting only drakes and had a fantastic time. Got our limit by about 0900. When we finished, Whit waded our guns and shell bags over to the dike while I started picking up decoys. I was surprised to hear Whit talking to someone and turned to see a Game Warden checking our gear and ducks. I had no clue that a Warden was any place close to us, but he had snuck in and watched us all morning. I was always legal, but Whit rarely was, so it was good that we had behaved that morning, particularly with all the ducks we saw.

When we were packing our gear into the car the Game Warden walked up again and we talked for a couple minutes. I asked if anyone else was hunting the impoundment, we had heard a little shooting, but couldn't tell for sure how far away it was. The Warden told us that one other man had been hunting there that morning, just walking around the dike with his retriever and hoping to have duck fly by. Said he only got one bird; a Redhead. I guess you never know.

A Dream Comes True

When I was pretty young, we were driving up to Indian Lake to hunt. Right about where we passed by Kiser Lake we saw a nice sized flock of Snow and Blue Geese. They were beautiful. Flying fairly low and not going too fast. We stopped the car and watched, and listened to them pass. It was fantastic. They were the first ones I had ever seen. I hunted Indian Lake for several years and never saw any. Dad saw a migration of Snows one time and a friend of ours actually killed a pair out of a little flock of 6 that decoyed to him out in the Reed Patch blind.

I never saw another Snow Goose until I was hunting up in Maryland. Most days I just saw thousands of Canada Geese, but every now and then I'd see a flock of Snows. One day Winston Chance took me hunting on his family's property down near Queen Anne. They had a large decoy spread of Snow Goose decoys, and a couple hundred Snows spent the entire afternoon on a pond just across the road, but we didn't have any action.

Toward the end of my first season I got a shot at a single Snow Goose and I killed it. The following year I killed another single. But not any real Snow Goose shooting like I had read about. In the mid-80's we had a single Snow Goose fly by our blind on the Pamlico River and I killed it. A couple years later Whit killed a Blue out of #74 and another in a Swan field over in Hyde County. So we were pecking away at them, but not really Snow Goose hunting.

Then in 1999 (I think) I got invited to Saskatchewan by an old friend of my Father. About a half hour into our second morning I finally got the Snow Goose shooting I had dreamed of ever since that Kiser Lake flock 30 some years before.

We had some really great Snow, Blue, and Ross' Goose shoots in Saskatchewan. Loved every minute of it. I have killed one more Snow here in NC since then. Maybe I'll get to shoot them again someday, sure hope to have that dream come true again.

Two Men Walking

I'm not afraid of the dark. Well, I'm a little afraid of the dark. Sometimes you see things that you can't quite explain. Sometimes you see things that appear to be a little strange. Then in the daylight, they are even more strange. Like the tree stump that looks just like a nice deer in the half-light of dawn. Then when the sun comes up, the stump has moved on.

The very first morning that McGee and I hunted in Mouse Harbor we saw something that we weren't quite sure what it was. We were a little bit lost and confused that morning in the dark, and we thought we saw 2 men walking along the far shore. One of them appeared to be carrying a decoy bag, so we assumed that it was other hunters. When it got light, we could clearly see it was a few miles to the nearest land (Sound Point)in that direction. So, being the smarter one of the two, I decided that we had seen ghosts or some sort of strange apparition. That was the logical answer to me.

From that time on, McGee and I referred to that point of land as "Two Men Walking". I did not want to anger the "hant" we had seen that morning in the dark. I did not want those two "men" to come after me. So McGee and I decided that we would hunt on our side of Mouse Harbor and they would, hopefully, stay on their side.

Some time later, I was hunting with Morris Whitfield and I referred to Sound Point as "Two Men Walking". Whit was immediately intrigued with that. He asked me if I had researched the area, and was that an old 'Indian Name' for Sound Point? I told him no. I told him that I had actually seen two hunters walking out to the point one morning in the dark. He told me that was impossible. It was a few miles away and I couldn't have seen anybody that far away in broad daylight, much less in the dark. I told him not to talk so loud when he was discussing that situation. I told him I feared that I had seen a couple of ghosts, probably the poor, ever-wandering souls of a couple of drowned duck hunters. Then I told him I didn't want to talk about it any more.

That night, back at the trailer, he questioned me some more. Being safely back at the camp, I spoke a little more openly about what we had seen. Morris listened intently and decided that we would go out real early the next morning, and perhaps see the ghosts again. I wasn't really comfortable with that, but being a U. S. Marine I couldn't let anyone see my fear.

So the next morning we went out real early. Sure enough I could see the two ghost hunters walking out the point. Morris said he tried real hard, but he couldn't see them. He said when it got light we would go investigate. I decided it was time to face my fears and told him I was ready to go over there and see, once and for all.

Soon as it was good daylight we got in the boat and motored across Mouse Harbor. Remember what I said a little while ago, that some things are even more strange when you finally see them in the daylight. Well, the two men who had walked out the point in the dark were gone. But they had left a sign of their passing. They had carefully carved out several dozen long wooden poles and stuck them in the sand. To me it was a clear sign that something supernatural had occurred out there in the dark of night. Something you try to forget, but the memory lingers on.

The sign of the "Two Men Walking" was there for years, until a hurricane wiped it from the face of the earth. I will always be glad I took that picture. Without photographic evidence I may have started to doubt myself. I wonder if the lost souls of those poor, drowned, duck hunters will ever find peace. I wonder if I will ever see them again. I wonder if someday Mike McGee and I will be the "Two Men Walking".

Israel's Gut

In the far back, southeastern part of Jim's Creek there is a small bay called Israel's Gut. Don't ask me how it got the name. I think it belongs to Steve Ross, part of his father's estate. I know he owns at least part of it, and the Potter's used to own the rest. Whatever. It is a beautiful part of the creek. Big enough to attract divers, but small enough to get a good share of puddleduck action. Unless you get a wicked NW wind, the little bay is an easy hunt.

We never made a habit of sneaking in there when I was hunting. I think Whit used to a lot before we started hunting together, so he knew the area very well. He had shot a lot of Canvasbacks in there, when they had it full of corn. Anyhow, one year Steve told us any day, except Saturdays, we wanted to hunt it in January was fine, because he had used all his vacation and was going back to work. It was nice to have that option, but since the baiting had pretty much ended up in Jim's Creek, it certainly wasn't a hot-spot.

So one day we had a bad weather forecast, fairly warm and rainy. Almost thunderstorm rainy conditions. We didn't want to get caught out on Mouse Harbor in weather like that so we decided to give Israel's Gut a try. Whit told me a story of a similar day he had spent hunting there in the rain and they had shot a lot of birds between the rain squalls, so it was at least something to try. We just hacked our way into some wax-myrtle bushes and put a small piece of camo burlap in front of us and we were covered up just fine. Well, the weatherman had missed the forecast by a mile. The wind came up a little after daylight and blew all the rain out to sea. It was cold and windy, but pretty much a blue sky. The ducks moved (but not by us) for the first hour or so after daylight, then fizzled out. We saw a couple Cans and really nothing else till about 1000. Then we started seeing a few little bunches of divers. First pass we killed a few and they turned out to be Ringnecks. Every few years a flight of Ringnecks comes to Pamlico Point, but it may have been the first I had ever killed up there. So that was fine by us. Next pass we shot Bluebills, which was OK too. Next pass we killed a pair of Bills and a pair of Ringnecks, pretty neat. I have seen that a few times since and maybe I had seen it before, but I thought it was cool to try to identify one from the other when they were coming into the decoys. Wasn't happening.

Out of nowhere a pair of Wood Ducks came screaming by, up high in the wind. Strange to me to see Woodies flying high like that out over a salt water bay, but I went ahead and killed the drake. He was so high and flying so fast (and he wasn't stone dead) that he fell 2 mosquito ditches away from us, in heavy juncas grass. I figured him for a lost bird. More of a retrieve than I even wanted to send Hoss on. Whit decided his dog Patty had seen the bird fall and had a mark on it. I doubted it, but he put her in the boat and they cruised 100 yards or so down the shore and Patty went looking for the bird. She couldn't find it, but wouldn't give up. Whit got tired of calling her and came on back to hunt some more. Pretty soon he started worrying about Patty, she should have come back by then. So we went to look for her. Sure enough she was right where he had put her out of the boat, sitting there holding that Wood Duck.

Not all that exciting of a day, but it was the first and only time I ever hunted in the little bay with the strange name, so I remember it well. I remember the smug look on Patty's face too.

Spring Creek in the Spring

Once upon a time, when Phil Crutchfield had his Collector's Permit, we had a great Teal shoot the first week of April. The Museum wanted as many Blue Wing Teal drakes as they could get. They had some big trade planned with some other state, so we were given the green light to 'collect' as many as we could.

The Spring Creek Impoundment had plenty of Teal so we just hunted there, rather than go to the trouble to go out to Goose Creek. We (Whit) was all about an easy hunt. We didn't even go down the dike as far as the first cross ditch. We just got away from the end with all the downed trees and snags and found a reasonably open little hole to throw the decoys in.

My Dad and Phil just went hiking around the impoundment and left Whit and I to do the collecting. Saturday we saw almost no Teal. Friday afternoon their were a million in there, but they went elsewhere on Saturday morning. So we had to settle for Gadwall and Wigeon, a dark and lonely job,as Morris always put it. Killed a dozen of each. But I think we only got 3 Teal the whole morning.

Sunday morning was a whole different story. I think all we killed was Teal, and several of them were fully plumed Blue Wing drakes, so Phil was elated. One pair of Teal had passed us and Whit got on them first. With a little laugh, he killed the drake, which was on my side. I shot the hen and we sent Hoss and Patty out to retrieve. When Hoss returned, Whit took the duck and looked it over for a minute then threw it in the pile. I never even looked at it until we finished up and went back to the trailer.

When I was going over all the birds I saw the one hen was different. Phil confirmed it was a Cinnamon Teal. Turned out to be the first and only specimen ever taken in North Carolina. Phil published an article in a bird watchers magazine about me killing the Cinnamon Teal. I was a little concerned because he had included the date of the hunt (early April) but I guess the Game Wardens don't read that magazine.

Good Shells and Tight Chokes

Over the years I've made some long shots. I've made the longest shots I've ever seen. I've made the longest shots that any of my hunting partners have ever seen. I take some of the credit, but mostly it has been proper selection of shells and choke.

About a million years ago I read old Stoegers Catalogs and a few sporting magazines and got interested in the ballistics of shotgun shells. I have an old book "The Complete Encyclopedia of Hunting" that I read back then and used to help hand load my first shotgun shells. Dennis Chaney and I used some really primitive means to arrive at our end. For example: using a rat-tail file to open up the powder and shot holes in a MEC reloader bar and catching the metal filings and weighing them and recording the data. Then we would go pattern the shells we loaded and look for a killing pattern. Then back to the filing. Over and over until the pattern was blown. Then, start all over again and stop just short of where we had blown the pattern. First with the amount of powder, then the amount of shot. Of course all the while we kept within the 'safe limits' of a reloading manual that my Father had. When we were finished we knew we had the maximum load that we could shoot through our 870's and have a perfect pattern. Years after that I got the opportunity to chronograph the loads and they were screamers by the standards of the day. 1300 fps with 1 3/8 ounces of #5 lead shot. For most ducks it was all I ever needed. We also developed a load for #6's and a load for #4's. So then we were covered from Teal Season till the late season Mallards and Blacks. Other than some truly hand-loaded #4 Buck that Dad fixed up for geese, I always shot factory 3" #2's on geese. I preferred the
1 3/8 ounce load, but the 1 5/8 ounce load was easier to find. The heavy 1 7/8 ounce load was just too slow for the way I was accustomed to shooting.

I shot those old loads until steel shot became mandatory. From the beginning I looked for steel shells that had good velocity. My first favorite was the Winchester Supreme. #3's for Bluebills and #2's for big ducks. After a while I switched over to Kent Fasteel because of the price. That is what I still shoot on a regular basis. If I go on a high-$ guided hunt I generally shoot Heavy Shot. It is probably the killingest shotgun shell I have ever used. But expensive to buy and expensive to replace choke tubes that wear out ahead of schedule.

I have shot a Full choke ever since I got my 870, 40 years ago. I will continue to shoot a Full choke as long as I hunt ducks. I like having the little extra pattern density out at long yardage. The steel shot era took some getting adjusted to. When steel shot first came along, all the "experts" said to shoot an open choke. Improved Cylinder or at least Modified. They told all these stories about steel shot not "flowing" through the choke like lead shot and too tight of choke would ruin your pattern. In my own mind I am convinced they talked that trash to keep people from ruining Full choked barrels on their favorite guns, and turning on the shell industry.

I shot steel for about 15 years in my 870. It still measures .685. My 870 barrel is strong. I think all vintage Remington barrels could handle steel shot just fine. When the arthritis in my elbow forced me to start using my Benelli, I started eating choke tubes. I admit, I have never bought the top of the line, mega-$ chokes tubes, but I didn't buy el-cheapo's either. I think in particular, Heavy Shot shells really work on a choke tube. I don't shoot a lot of that stuff, but since it hit the market, I wear out choke tubes faster. But I'm sticking with a Full choke.

I recently read 2 really good articles about some extensive research that was conducted to explore the benefits of a 'short shot string'. I know the concept originated with John Olin, and the shells that we shoot in this country all have a decently short shot string. That is when they are fired through a barrel with a good quality choke. I do concede that these 'wad-stripper' choke tubes they are making these days do seem to help keep a nice pattern. But the bottom line of the research that I mentioned was that a Modified choke made a better killing pattern.

I tend to disagree. I can hold my own in mathematics and physics. So I set up some equations of my own to take the aforementioned test results to a little higher level. I used ballistic data straight from the shell manufacturers. I used some equations I found on the Internet to factor in the tangential effects of wind speed, wind direction, and the speed of the duck. I used accurate measurements (I dissected the Bluebill) to see how large of an area the 'killing zone' is. I used actual pattern density tests that my Dad and I conducted some years back. So I was not working with ball park figures on what a Full choke produces versus a Modified choke. I had the specific data.

Sure enough, you get a shorter shot string with a Modified choke. Just like the magazine articles said. But, now for the rest of the story. For an average sized Bluebill, flying at 45 mph at a range of 45 yards the difference in the length of the shot string between a Modified and Full choke is one side of the story. The increased pattern density of the Full choke is the other side. By my calculations, the number of pellets actually entering the killing zone of that Bluebill at the split second when you want to kill that bird is higher with the Full choke. Granted, there is less for room for error with the Full choke. But I have contended all my life that the reason hunters used a more open choke was not about "not wanting the meat all shot up" but rather to make up for slight shortcomings in their wingshooting ability.

So, you can safely shoot birds at 35 yards and smack them down good and hard with your Modified. You can sit there in the blind and be one of the guys. Or you can reach out and touch a duck that nobody else even thought about shooting at. Ever go off to a foreign country and sit down to your first meal with a group of total strangers and when your name is mentioned have another hunter set down his fork and say he had heard about your shooting from other total strangers?

Screw a Full choke tube in your gun and be that guy.

Night Hunts

I would never be so greedy that I would shoot at night. I have read about it for years, but it was a way of life when it was practiced. That's how the Market Hunters earned a living. Don't know that I fully agree with it even under those circumstances. But in the meantime, I don't really know of anybody shooting at night. Except for a couple times.

Down in Argentina, we shot geese in fields for about 3 hours in the morning. That was all the time that most of the hunters wanted to lay there on the cold ground. I asked if I could stay on after they were ready to pick up and got first one excuse then another from the outfitter, but the answer was always no. So for the rest of the day we shot upland game; perdiz and hares. Or shot doves and pigeons.

The goose shooting was great, but left us with a lot of time on our hands. So after a couple days the outfitter said he had found a pond where the geese were roosting and that we could shoot there in the 'evening'. I was all for it. Late that afternoon (about 1800) we headed out to a large pond. Around the bank it was 6 inches deep in goose feathers, so it looked promising. We put a few floater goose decoys in the pond and spread out in a semi-circle around the end of the pond that the outfitter said the geese would come from. We were standing in 6 foot high needle grass, so we were well hidden. We waited and waited. The sun went down and dusk started closing in on us. Just about the time I thought it was a bust, the first geese showed up. They came into view with their wings set, already gliding into the pond. In 10 minutes we had 135 geese down. It was unbelievable. I only shot at the male Magellan Geese, because they are mostly white and were easier to see and much easier to retrieve in that long grass.

The following year we tried the same thing again. The pond where we went that time had no cover around it at all. We sat down and leaned back against some little backrests right on the edge of the pond. Sticking out like sore thumbs, I was afraid it would flare the geese. I was wrong. That night it was truly dark before we saw the first flock. You had to shoot straight up over your head so you could silhouette the birds against the sky. Same result. 4 of us put down 110 in less than 10 minutes.

It was exciting. There are millions of geese in Argentina, so the birds we killed weren't even a drop in the ocean. To get to turn over a pickup truck full of geese to a poor farmer easily outweighs any feeling of being a poor sport and shooting a 'little late'.

Good Sports

Back a few years when Paul Gettys and his friends invited me to Saskatchewan with them, they really treated me good. Even though they normally sort of shared some responsibilities, that year they bent the rules a little so I could hunt all the time and didn't have to spend any of the time scouting. Not that I could have been all that productive out scouting, since I didn't know where I was most of the time, and didn't know any of the farmers. But it was really nice of those guys to let me hunt morning and evening.

They made sure I was set to get decent shooting wherever we hunted. One morning Paul had picked out a goose field that was a good ways from the area where we had been goose shooting. He said their were birds there in the evening, so we set up there the following morning. The field we were in was pretty much rectangular, with a big pond at one corner and a small pond on the opposite corner. We got some goose shooting, although not a lot. The good sportsmanship showed up when a Specklebelly came from the right side of the spread all the way across to where I was on the far left edge. None of them shot at it, let me kill my first ever Specklebelly. That same morning a lot of Mallards were moving back and forth between the two ponds. Not really coming to our decoys, but just skirting the far left edge of the decoys - my corner. When I had killed my duck limit, I volunteered to switch places with one of them. They said no, for me just to fire away. I killed 26 out of our 32 duck limit. That was true friendship and sportsmanship.

On a couple of things they snagged me, but it was out of humor, not selfishness. The first week we were there, Sand Hill Cranes were everywhere. But, those guys told me not to shoot one. Said they were a horrible looking bird and not fit to eat. So I let many of them pass by me. After about a week of hunting, Rich Kasunic asked me if I had killed a Crane yet and I told him no, that I wasn't going to bother with one. He said that I should kill one just to add to my 'big list'. So, I was all for it. Never saw another one for the rest of the trip. They told me later that they had all killed one, and that they were not a great prize, but that it was a shame I had gone all the way to Saskatchewan and not gotten one.

Another time they got me we were in a good goose field. They normally hunted in 2 pairs out in the middle of the decoy spread. If one pair or the other got the lion's share of the shooting, they would trade off every hour or so. Well, this one morning Paul and I were paired together and were getting the majority of the shooting so he told me that we would go switch with the other guys. They said no. I think it was just because they wanted me to have the shooting. But anyhow, as Paul and I were standing there trying to convince them to swap out, a flock of Ross' Geese came right to the decoys. They were only about 20 yards high, but they were doing that strange flipping over in flight. The entire flock was flipping over and over, it was crazy. When they got to about 35 yards Paul hollered "Shoot!" So I did. Missed clean. But the birds all straightened out and the four us killed the entire flock. 11 birds down, it was awesome. I asked Paul, why did he say to shoot when the birds were doing all that flipping around, and he said that firing a shot was the only way to get them to stop and start flying normally. Being the "new" man, I had been elected to be the one to give up that first shot. Didn't need it, really. There were only 11 birds in the flock.

All in all, those guys could not have treated me any better for that 2 week trip. True Sportsmen.

Hiding Birds

As I have confessed to, I do sometimes shoot over the limit. Again, it is just sort of my way of balancing out for the days I don't get to hunt, and to 'correct' errors that the FWS may have made in setting the limits. Back at Indian Lake we occasionally made what we referred to as "meat runs". If we happened to get a limit of a certain species and there were plenty more to shoot, we would take birds back into the cottage and to the landing where we had launched and store them in the car. Never to a point of being game hogs. For example, on a nearby lake a resident flock of Canada Geese was being established. Well, to ensure that the Refuge Manager looked good on paper so he could get his Federal funding, they cut our Goose limit to one bird in 4 or 5 surrounding counties. We didn't have any captive flock at Indian Lake, ours were mostly migratory birds. So when we got that rare flock of geese over the decoys it really was hard to stop at one bird. When the limit was 2 we never shot over the limit, but just shooting one bird was asking too much.

Then there were the years that we were on the 'points system'. The point values of the various birds seemed always geared to get the rich shooting clubs on Lake Erie the best deal. Pintails at 10 points and Ringnecks at 35 points, for example, in 1974. That was totally wrong for the rest of the state, but took care of the rich people. We pretty much totally disregarded the law that year. We had more Ringnecks at Indian Lake that year than we had all other ducks combined, so we shot them, and never stopped shooting them. Same type of a deal on Redheads and Canvasbacks. Right within the Mississippi Flyway other states could shoot 4, but they were 100 point ducks for us. Kill one duck and be finished for the day. Not likely. I never quite reached a 1000 points in a day, but came close a few times.

In my lifetime there have been plenty of Wood Ducks. Maybe 70 years ago they were threatened, but not in my life. But the limit has historically been low. All the work involved in finding a Wood Duck hole, and getting in and out of it merits more than just a couple birds. The big problem with hiding Wood Ducks is that you have to go all the way back into the swamp to bring them out.

I can also remember that in 1969 Ohio limited us to one Mallard. The rest of the entire free world had 4-5 Mallards that year. Situations like that will make a poacher out of an otherwise honest hunter. We ran out tank after tank of boat gas, making meat runs with our 'legal' limit of Mallards.

That past 30 years down here in North Carolina have seen similar situations. I think North Carolina is historically known as the baiting and overshooting capital of the world. So, we are doomed to pay for that for the rest of our lives. Even though "we" weren't alive in the hay day of the violating. First they took away our Wood Ducks, setting the limit at 2. Just this past year it went back up to 3. Still not right. They took our Bluebills from 7 down to 2. Actually down to one for the first 2/3's of the season. Closed Canvasbacks all but a couple years out of the past 30 years, and gave us one bird the years it was open. 1-2 Redheads. Sure we can fill a limit with Gadwall or Wigeon. Some years, if you have access to the right places you can kill Gadwall and Wigeon in good numbers, but I have personally never known a man to kill a 6 bird limit of either one here in NC.

One time up on Mouse Harbor I honestly made a mistake on a hen Canvasback. She was flying with a flock of Scoter (?). We had to go back into the public ramp and many times a Warden was there to check your birds. I devised this foolproof plan to put the duck inside my waders. I set it right in the crotch area of my waders and thought I was good to go. Soon as we got to the landing I made a big show of taking the dog to the truck. While I was there I quickly slipped out of my waders and into my regular boots. All the while I was within 20 yards of the Warden. Feeling pretty clever, I backed the trailer up to recover the boat and got out and talked to the Warden and the other hunters. When we got ready to leave, McGee was about to burst with laughter. I thought he was just proud of me for fooling the Warden, but then he said "Look at your hunting pants". I looked down and saw that the entire crotch and seat were blood stained. McGee joked that the Warden must have thought it was my time of the month :-)

I think I've already told about the 'hollow log' on the shore behind the Hospital Point blind.

When I watch 200,000 Bluebills fly by me in a day (that is the absolute truth) and the Feds allow me 1 or 2 birds, it just isn't going to happen. Oh yes, some days I go to all the pains to set up and kill my 2 Bluebills. Actually, a lot of days. But you give me a decent Winter storm, and Bluebills in numbers that the Feds absolutely deny exist and I will 'make up' for the 2 bird days.

I remember slipping up the bank behind the blind one day with a dozen Bluebills on a duck strap, looking for a likely place to hide them. Just when I thought I was completely safe and hidden from sight, I took one more step and a covey of about 20 Quail exploded from under my feet. My bowels nearly exploded simultaneously.

Another day, we had a freak Winter storm and shot a few too many. We would fill one of our leather duck straps with 12 birds and find a place along the shore to stash them. Finally, I stopped to sort of size up the day and realized that we had shot 3-4 boxes of shells, worked the dog over and over again, had 3 different stashes of ducks along the river shore, but not a single duck in the blind. That would have been hard to explain.

Another day, my son Mike and I were hunting and Matt Horne came out to join us. The boys were both about 16 and they were having the best day of their lives up till that point. (Maybe still the best day they have had.) Matt said he had to get going, so I told him he could shoot the last 2 birds of our "limit" if he would take all the birds home with him when he left. He killed a double on the next pass so we followed up on our deal. When I threw the last full duck strap on his shoulder, his knees buckled from the weight of all the ducks. I told him he had 5 minutes to get to his truck and get out of there before Mike and I started shooting again. He grinned and staggered up the bank, turned back and gave us a wave as he disappeared from sight.

Another time up on Mouse Harbor, Whit and I were having a pretty bad week. Just a couple or 3 birds a day. Then on Wednesday all hell broke loose. Whit was down the shore from the blind hiding limits of Bills and then peppering them down. We kept on shooting until he had enough limits to fill out the rest of the week. Lucky for us he did that because we hardly saw another duck all week, but came in with a limit each day. We had the rest of the hunters talking to themselves for the rest of the season, wondering why we were having such good luck.

Whit and I went out to the Goose Creek Impoundment one time during the early season. The place was virtually covered in Blue Wing Teal. We had a great shoot, but it only lasted for about a half an hour. My last bird came from behind and I jumped on it really fast and literally blew it into 2 pieces. Completely ruined the bird. I decided I wasn't going to go home one shy of the limit so I discarded that destroyed bird and shot another one. Whit was competitive enough that he couldn't stand it that I had shot one more bird than him, so he knocked down the next bird that came by; a hen Shoveler. I told him that was a lot of risk for a terrible table bird, but he said not to worry. We had ridden out to the impoundment with some friends of Whit's that had a big boat. They had hunted separately, but we were traveling together. Whit stuck the 'extra' Shoveler in an ammo can they had in the front of the boat and we headed over to pick them up. Sure enough a Warden stopped us. He climbed into the boat with us and checked out gear and our birds. Then he asked what was in all the ammo cans in the front of the boat. Whit said it wasn't our boat so he didn't know. The Warden started methodically checking about 2 dozen ammo cans. Each one was full of fishing tackle, but he kept on checking. When he had one can left (the can with the Shoveler in it) he said he'd seen enough and climbed back out of the boat. Only Whit could have been that lucky.

Out at Hospital Point one time I had decided to fire away at Canvasbacks. It was the last day of the season and I had watched thousands fly by that year and not shot any. Well, I should have remembered from previous years that the Warden always stopped by on the last day of the season, but never thought of it. McGee hadn't killed any Cans because he did remember. Sure enough here comes the Warden. I kicked the Cans up against the front wall of the blind and jumped out to help the Warden hold his boat. It was a fairly rough day and he was fighting the wind trying to hold his boat in position. McGee showed him our guns and licenses and all our Bluebills. The Warden kept trying to look over the front of the blind to check it out for himself. Each time he leaned forward I would bounce his boat and he would teeter on the gunwale and start to lose his balance. I finally told him I couldn't hold the boat steady any longer and he said "Thanks" and went on his way.

I haven't made a habit of shooting over the limit, but there have been, and probably will be some more days that we have to hide a few birds. They all end up on my supper table, so I feel no guilt or remorse. Just because I am not a "rich man" and can't buy the laws or the law enforcement personnel doesn't make me a poor sportsman. Enough said.

Blackbird Basin

It got it's name from the thousands of blackbirds that used to cling to the cattails and do whatever blackbirds do. Hard to say how big the marsh was, because there really wasn't any boundary on the western end, but 50 acres is my guess. Hermit Island, as I knew it, was sort of fishhook shaped and the inside of the hook was a cattail marsh. Sort of thinned out on the west end near Garbage Island. The Basin sat pretty much out in front of the cottage where we stayed at Turkeyfoot Point. We crappie fished there in the Spring and Summer, and shot ducks there in the Fall and Winter. It was by far our main hunting spot during Teal Season. If Teal were on the lake you would find them there.

It was probably the best Wood Duck marsh I've ever seen. Unfortunately, about the time I started duck hunting, Indian Lake was becoming a popular hunting spot and everybody who didn't have a blind would crowd into the marshes around the perimeter of the lake. That ran all the Woodies out very early in the season. I can remember Dad coming home from there one Saturday night with an empty beer carton packed full of Wood Ducks. I couldn't believe it. I wanted in on that. I killed some ducks in Blackbird Basin, but it was mostly Teal and then a few Mallards when the weather was too rough out on the lake. But it was still a great place to hunt. Late in the season when all the skunk hunters were gone, we virtually had Blackbird Basin all to ourselves. We could hunt there for a half hour in the evening after we had given up out at our blind. You never knew what would come in. Maybe nothing, maybe geese, maybe a Wood Duck or maybe a handful of Mallards.

On the back side of Blackbird Basin, where a channel ran through the south side of Hermit Island, you could come in by boat. Just step out on the bank and walk 10 yards and be looking out over about a half acre pond of open water. Beautiful. Many a Mallard, Wood Duck and Teal met their demise in that little pond. I used to love hunting there even when the birds weren't flying because there was always hope. If any ducks came into the Basin they were going to look at that little pothole. I killed most of the Blue Wing Teal that I've shot in my life right there.

Two trips out to the Basin really stand out in my memory. The first one was a stormy day, wind 30 mph or so, way too rough to get out on the lake. Dad and I sat and waited for hours to see if the wind would die. Never did. So about 1400 I took the Gizmo (a little steel rowboat) and a half dozen decoys and Chief and rowed out to a likely spot. Set the decoys with the wind at my back, pulled the boat back in the reeds and Chief and I covered up with cattails and burlap. It started snowing a real blizzard. I sat there with growing anticipation. Finally, through the snow I saw 2 birds with their wings set, sailing right at me. I got ready and at the exact second that I stood up to shoot, I realized they were Killdeer. I was as crushed as a 12 year old can be. Still remember that day, still wish they had been ducks.

The other day I recall was a cold day. We had hunted out in our blind and Dad had killed some ducks, but I hadn't hit any. So I was feeling pretty low. One day a week to hunt and I had missed on my shots. Dad was going to take a nap before driving back to Dayton and I asked if I could take the Gizmo out in Blackbird Basin. It was 90% frozen over and Dad didn't think I had any chance of getting any shooting, but he let me go anyway. I fought the ice bad. Made so much noise there was absolutely no possibility of sneaking up on any ducks, but I kept hoping I'd hit some open water. Sure enough when I hit the little channel on the backside of Hermit Island it was open water. I slowly rowed the boat down the channel, hoping that the little pothole at the far end might have open water and a few ducks in it. I had to turn around in the boat to row properly because I had push-rowed all the way out there so I could watch for ducks. About the time I got in position and started rowing again something caught the corner of my eye. A beautiful drake Wood Duck about 5 yards from my boat. He jumped and I missed him 3 straight shots.

Hard to describe how badly I felt. I already loved duck hunting, but hadn't hit anything all day. Ready to give up, I didn't even check the little pothole I just turned the boat around and headed for the cottage. With whatever slight glimmer of hope a young boy might have, I decided to push-row back just in case a duck had snuck in there on me. It was much easier rowing going back because I had broken up the ice on my trip out. Just about the time I cleared the open water channel and was ready to follow my little trail through the ice I looked up ahead and there sat 3 Mallards. 2 drakes and a hen, sitting right in the little path where I had broken the ice. The ducks saw me at the same instant and jumped. Up came the trusty 31 Remington and down went the 3 ducks. A couple were just crippled, but couldn't get away, I rowed right up to them. I was redeemed.

Got closer to the cottage and saw Dad standing out on the dock. He had heard me shoot at the Wood Duck 3-4 minutes before that and came out in time to see me shoot the Mallards. Well he couldn't actually see the shot because the reeds were too tall, but he knew the deal when he saw the big grin on my face.

Really would like to hunt the Basin again someday. Maybe I'll make it back there someday.

P.S. I also killed about a million and one Coot in Blackbird Basin when I was learning to shoot. Great place for a kid to learn to hunt.

Rosy Billed Pochards

Before I went to Argentina for the first time I really had no idea what species of ducks they had down there. I had heard of Silver Teal and Rosy Billed Pochards. Reading on the different outfitter's websites I saw the names of a bunch of other ducks. My hunting partner, Kelly Murphy, made me some old timey flash cards so I could identify the ducks. Put a color picture and a brief description of each of the species that she could find down there. It worked out great. Each day I pretty much knew what I was shooting right from the start, and that was important to me. Unfortunately, my first year I didn't kill any Rosy Billed Pochards. The most famous duck in South America and I didn't get any. I did see a flock of about 15-18 but they didn't come close to my decoys. Out of our entire party of 7 hunters only one Rosy Bill was killed, and it was a hen. Didn't seem to make any difference to the other hunters. They were more interested in the Silver Teal and the Cinnamon Teal. Both pretty birds, and I killed a bunch of both of those. I really liked the Chiloe Wigeon. They are a nice big bird, the drakes are larger than our American Wigeon. Very similar to ours, very pretty birds. They also decoy quite well. I would have to say that after 4 trips to Argentina I would rather shoot the Wigeon than anything else down there. When I started taking a Mojo decoy down there with me it almost made it a slaughter on the Wigeon. I honestly had several flocks of up to 8-10 Wigeon that I killed the entire flock. They would just keep circling and circling that Mojo decoy till I killed them all. Maybe even started to cross the line of being sporting.

Anyhow, back to the Rosy Billed Pochard. The second year I went to Argentina we shot around a big lake near Bragado. There were plenty of Rosy Bills there. My first morning shoot I killed a couple pairs of Rosy Bills and was impressed. They are a big duck, the hen looks almost exactly like a hen Canvasback. The drake looks like a gigantic drake Ringneck, but of course had the red knob at the top of the bill, that they get their name from. But they fly and decoy like puddleducks. You would think you had a flock of Mallards or Black Ducks working your decoys. So all in all, I see why a lot of rich hunters say they are the finest duck in the world. They are also delicious on the supper table, so a fine bird all around.

That evening, Jorge took Dave Thomas and I to a little pothole in the middle of a cornfield. Probably a half acre of open water then another acre of flooded corn around it. Never in my shooting experiences have I seen anything like the way the Ring Teal and Rosy Bills poured into that pothole that evening. The first half hour we were there the shooting was good, then as it got later the shooting picked up like I have never seen. Dave and I had been gunning together out of a small temporary blind. When the shooting picked up I moved out of the blind and just stood in some bushes about 7-8 yards from Dave. It gave us a little more elbow room, but it also sort of divided the shooting in half. He took what was on his side and I did the same.

After a short while, we both agreed that we had enough and we wanted to get the birds picked up before it got dark. I had finished up with 55 straight Rosy Bills in the last 12 minutes we shot. It was extraordinary. The bird boy that stayed with us was totally amazed at the way I had shot. To my right there was 3 distinct piles of birds. The first pile was where the birds I'd killed with my first shot had fallen, the second pile was from my second shot and so on. I had killed about 70 birds and only one or two were not piled up in the 3 neat little piles. I certainly hadn't done it on purpose, but the birds on my side were all passing the same way. Every time I stood up to shoot it was an identical pass. Wish it had been light enough when we finished to take a picture of it, although nobody would have believed it anyway, it certainly looked like it had been staged.

I haven't had any other shoots where only a couple of species were killed. But that evening we only killed Rosy Bills and Ring Teal. It was pretty cool. I was glad to get that opportunity to see all those Rosy Bills up close and personal. They are truly a fine duck, worthy of all the praise I've heard about them.

Make it 4!

Made my 4th trip to Argentina last year and it was good, but not great. There is a really bad drought in progress down there and it finally affected the outfitter I go with. Past years he was able to work around the drought and actually find us greater concentrations of ducks, but our luck sort of ran out. When we got there we were informed that he had cut his limit to 35 ducks per day and that we would only be able to shoot ducks three days out of the week.

I was not pleased and got into a shouting match, and finally a shoving match with the outfitter. I won the match, but he pretty much prevailed on the duck shooting. When you are in a foreign country, and you are no longer in the Marines, you pretty much have to do what you are told, or I guess you could end up in a real bind. Hasn't happened to me yet, but a couple of close calls. Whatever. We were told that we would fill in the rest of the week with dove, pigeon and perdiz shooting. No way I'm shooting many doves down there, no sport to it at all. So a couple half hour afternoon dove shoots was all for me. We did kill several hundred pigeons, which I enjoy, but it isn't duck hunting. Had one really super day where 2 of us killed 20 perdiz. That was as good as it gets on upland birds. One evening we had a great shoot on parrots. The big $300 parrots. Their flight is so erratic that it makes for really difficult wingshooting, and they are really good to eat, so that was fun.

On to the duck hunting. Our hunting party consisted of a husband and wife from Mobile, that were super people. I hope to hunt with them again someday. They aren't hardcore and were very satisfied to kill a couple dozen ducks. The other hunter was a big mouthed cry baby from Louisiana. The very first morning the bird boys told me not to worry, they would take care of me. So I was out in the marsh having a great shoot when up walks the big mouth and looks at the bird counter that my bird boy was carrying. I was at 53 birds. He went crazy. Told me they had stopped him at 35 birds and wouldn't let him shoot any more. I finished up my 75 birds and went back to the trucks. The big mouth had appealed to the outfitter and was told he could shoot some extra birds the next day to even him out but then we would all be held to 35 birds per hunt. I can understand his position. He paid the same as I did and should have gotten equal treatment. But his approach was way out of line. Did a lot towards spoiling the entire trip.

I have stayed good friends with the bird boys since my first trip down there. I treat them like equals, I take them gifts just like I take the outfitter, I spend more time with them than I spend with the other hunters. Not sucking up, just establishing a friendship. I send them Christmas cards and they get a great kick out of that. I email them in the off season and they always respond. A friend is a friend, even though I don't even speak their language, we communicate.

So we negotiated a 4th day of duck shooting for myself and the big mouth. The couple was satisfied to hunt perdiz the last day. I killed the bird boy imposed limit of 75 ducks a day up until the last "extra" day that the outfitter gave in to. He was insistent with the bird boys that we be held to 35 ducks apiece. I still wanted to hunt, so it was fine with me. The outfitter didn't even go along with us, just a couple bird boys. When we got to the marsh, I suggested that the two of us just shoot together. That was fine with everyone. Once we were set up I suggested to the big mouth that we should just fire away until the 70 birds were down, and not worry about how many each of us killed. He was all for that. First shot he fired he killed four birds on the shore, walking around picking up corn. Made a point of telling me that he had me down 4 - 0. The final tally was 53 - 17. He was the most upset human I have ever seen. He couldn't believe that an old man had skinned his ass so thoroughly. Pouted all the way till he got on his flight at the airport. Of course he emailed me later and wanted to be friends. I told him I didn't hang out with people that shot as poorly as he did :-)

All in all I killed a 1000 birds or so, so it was still a great time. But I wish I could pick who I go down there with. I was real lucky the first couple trips, but the last two trips were not so great. Since I don't have any friends to go down there with I guess I'll just continue to hope for decent hunting partners and see how it goes.

I am probably going to take a couple years off from the Argentina trips. I want everything to return to normal once the drought ends so we can have an established plan before I get there and not have to struggle to get what I feel I paid for. I also want to shoot a combination of ducks and geese next time I go and with the screwy goose laws the last couple years that needs a little time to iron itself out.

Still a wonderful time and I still encourage every duck hunter to try their best to get down there once. I have killed 26 different species down there and still hope to add a couple more. Don't miss out on an opportunity like that if you can help it, Amigo.

Wingshooting

I don't think you can truly love and appreciate hunting if you don't shoot well. I realize that there are a lot of elements involved in a successful hunt. But, I feel justified in saying that the killing shot is the element that determines your success or failure. Duck hunting is just bird watching if you can't put the final piece in the puzzle.

I don't claim to be the best shot in the world, so I don't mean to talk down to anybody about shooting. But, I do hold my own most of the time, so I'd like to share some of my thoughts and observations about shooting. Maybe it will help somebody who's getting started. First and foremost; I feel that the mental part of shooting is a much bigger part than any physical aspects. You have to want it. If you want it enough, and make up your mind to it, your body will accommodate you. If it isn't that big of a deal to you, then you will always just be mediocre.

My Dad taught me to shoot a pistol. When I was competing in the Marine Corps I held an NRA Master classification. The Marines (in particular CWO4 York) taught me to shoot a rifle. When I quit competing I held an NRA High Master classification. I once shot the head off a water snake swimming about 40 yards out in the Pamlico Sound with a .22 pistol. I made a 400 yard offhand shot on a deer, with iron sights. I won shooting medals starting with Intercollegiate stuff all the way to the Nationals at Camp Perry. I wanted to master rifle and pistol shooting, and by having the right mindset, it came to me pretty easily. I was decent at Trap and Skeet shooting, but never could afford to compete a lot. Never really had the interest in either one. I actually enjoyed Sporting Clays a little, but couldn't afford to pursue it. I didn't really care about these sports too much, and my scores showed it. I can hit most rabbits I shoot at. Don't think I ever missed a pheasant, and can usually be good for at least one quail out of a covey rise. I love to hunt, shooting is part of it, so I learned how to shoot well enough to put some good suppers on the table.

But my interest lies with waterfowling. I have always worked hard at my duck shooting. As a young boy, I watched with envy as my Dad killed ducks out of each pass. I wanted to be like that. I wanted it very badly. When I was 18 I had killed enough ducks to be getting close, and my folks had given me my 870, so I was gaining some confidence. Christmas week of 1971 I out shot my Dad. Not just on one duck, but the whole hunting trip. He decided to sell his AYA 10 gauge double barrel and get a 3" 12 gauge to try to keep up. I hunted the entire season in 1974. (Took an early retirement for a few months :-) By the end of the season I actually felt I was a good duck shot. Dad and I hunted the blind at Oldfield Island that year and both really shot hard, trying to best each other. I remember one day when we had a pass of Redheads and Dad and I both tripled. We took those birds to the landing, and later in the day I killed a triple on Canvasbacks, Dad only got 2 on that pass. I haven't looked back since. I went on a run of 3 duck seasons that I only missed one duck total. That was just the past few years, so I haven't completely lost my edge. I killed 93 ducks with 4 boxes of shells one morning in Argentina. Followed that with a 100 birds with 110 shells the next morning. Not trying to brag here, just stating some facts.

Some guys are deliberate shots, some are instinctive. Morris Whitfield was an excellent, deliberate shot. Mike McGee was probably the best all around instinctive shot I have ever known. Any shotgun sport, McGee was right there with the best. I don't really consider myself in either of those categories.

I read a book entitled "The Orvis Wingshooting Guide". It was all about gun fit and proper stance. I fully support everything that book said. Probably the best I've ever seen those concepts put down on paper. When I am starting out a new shooter, I insist on them reading it.

I've read for years about different methods of shotgunning. Swinging from behind a bird, shooting as you pass the bird's head, and continuing your swing. I have read about 'snap shooting". Just raise your gun up to where you think the bird is going to be and pull the trigger. I have read about sustained lead. Nash Buckingham said he shot at a moving spot out in front of the bird. When I stop and think on it, shooting at that 'moving spot' probably best describes how I shoot. That is where the mental aspect of shotgunning really comes into play. Naturally, I still have to apply the basics: my gun fits me well. I have spent countless hours working on my footing, until it has become natural for me to assume a good shooting position. Whether in a blind, a boat, or in the marsh, my foot position doesn't change. I shoulder my gun properly, so that it becomes part of me. I don't just hold a shotgun to my shoulder, I embrace it. I grip the shotgun with my right hand so hard that my knuckles turn white, and I pull it back into my shoulder hard. Before I ever mount my gun, my body is focused on the bird I am going to shoot and all my training moves me to that target.

I wholeheartedly support the 'moving spot' theory over any other method of shotgunning. Think of all the factors involved: speed and distance of the bird, angle of flight of the bird, wind velocity and direction, and shot size and velocity of the shell you are using. All those factors dictate exactly where that moving spot should be for that particular shot. After enough practice it all comes naturally. A big Mallard sailing in on cupped wings has that moving spot right on his nose. A Bluebill passing downwind, outside the decoys, has a moving spot about the length of my shotgun out in front of him. With years of practice, it comes to me pretty much subconsciously. I see the bird I want to shoot and it just happens.

I love to teach new shooters, with all weapons. I am probably a better teacher and coach than I am shooter myself, well maybe not. My sons are as good as it gets with a shotgun. They had me to teach them and compete with. They listened and witnessed what was going on and both have learned very well. If they ever held a two man world championship of shotgunning, I would pay my sons' entry fee.

Everything about my sport is interesting and exciting. The ducks, the weather, the location, the decoys, the calling, and the dog work are all a big part of duck hunting. But when you add in some good wingshooting, that is when it all comes together.