Coot

Ever eat Coot? The breasts are good when fried with onions, very good. But the gizzards are outstanding. A little pound and a half Coot has a gizzard the same size as a pool ball, and a lot more tender than a chicken gizzard. You know how to clean gizzards right? Split it in half between the 2 lobes and then peel the membrane off each of the halves. With Coot gizzards, then you slice them a couple times to get them to manageable size before you fry them. Wish I had some right now.

They are also a great training aid for young shotgunners. The Winter before I killed my first duck, Dad rowed me around Blackbird Basin in the Gizmo and I shot a lot of Coot. Shot the full 15 bird limit a lot of days. They were the first flying targets I had ever shot, and it got me off on the right foot.

An old timer in a beer joint asked me one time if I ever shot any Mud Hens (nickname for Coot)? I told him yes and he told me that any time I wanted to trade, he would swap me 2 Mallards for 15 Coot. I took him up on it once. I never gave any more of my precious gizzards away.

One day Dad, Harry and I were set up about a half hour before shooting time in one of our blinds. Coot started pouring in by the dozens. By shooting time we must have had 500 or so Coot in the decoys. Dad asked if I felt like cleaning some Coot that night, and even though I generally didn't shoot Coot from the blind (never wanted to scare off the real ducks) there were too many to pass up the opportunity. We went over the 3 man limit with our first volley. Just about killed old Chief retrieving those 57 birds. But that made several good meals.

A few years later Paul Gettys came to hunt with us for a couple days. We killed a few ducks but the Coot were everywhere. So I took Dad and Paul to the mouth of Lucy's Pond and put them out on the bank, one on each side of the opening, about 40-50 yards apart. I took the boat way back in the Pond and started slowly herding the Coot. I had a couple thousand swimming ahead of the boat when they started taking off. Over about a 15 minute period they all flew right through that opening where Dad and Paul were waiting. They killed so many I had to make a separate trip in to the landing to make room in the boat for the decoys. That too made several good meals.

20 years later I took my Boys up to Spring Creek. We didn't do so well on the ducks; I think 1 Wood Duck and 1 Ringneck, but we saw a lot of Coot. On the way back to the Jeep, the Boys asked if they could walk around and shoot some Coot. I gave them each a box of shells and the dog whistle and I headed on back and took a nap in the seat of the Jeep. I heard a little shooting as I dozed and pretty soon Mike came running up and dropped off 15 Coot and asked for some more shells. They had a big, old fashion Coot Shoot. We ate good for a few more meals.

Haven't killed a dozen Coot total since that day, but I'm sure the situation will avail itself again someday and we'll have another Coot shoot. Get the grease hot :-)

Call your dog!

We use a public boat ramp when we're hunting up at Pamlico Point. It is only a few hundred yards from our Duck Camp. Very convenient. But, being a public ramp, all sorts of ne'er-do-wells launch there. We pack our boat, get fully dressed and sometimes even load the dog in the boat before we drive down to the ramp. Makes everything go fast and smooth. Most people who drive in from some distance stop up on the road and get everything all set so they are only on the ramp for a couple minutes. Others don't. They take 10 minutes to back into position, take their time getting dressed, getting gear loaded into their boat, being a general nuisance. Whatever.

One time when we were launching, some real SOB had let his Lab out to run all around, all crazy, while he was getting ready to launch. The dog jumped on other hunters, tearing waders. Jumped on peoples trucks, muddying and scratching the paint. But the SOB just took his time. His dog jumped on other dogs that hunters had at heel, or had on a leash, but the guy never got the message. The second morning that the SOB and his ill trained dog were at the ramp we had a little excitement.

I had loaded Hoss (aka - 120 pounds of romp stompin' hell) into the boat before we drove down to the ramp. Morris kept Patty in the car. We launched and I held the bow rope on the boat while Morris parked the car. Meanwhile the cur Lab ran over to me and jumped into our boat to fight with Hoss. His final mistake. I just let them go at it for a couple minutes until the guy came running up to me and hollered "Call your dog!" I calmly informed him that my dog was exactly where he was supposed to be and that maybe he ought to call his dog. Well, it didn't work. He was foolishly brave enough to jump into our boat to attempt to save his dog.

When he finally climbed out of the boat, he and his dog appeared to have been run through a meat grinder. As he carried his dog back to his truck, several onlookers taunted him with "Call your dog" jokes. I wonder if he trained his next dog a little better.

The Hex

Morris Whitfield loved to shoot Black Ducks. A lot of Atlantic Flyway hunters feel the Black Duck is the greatest prize. Growing up in the Mississippi Flyway, Black Ducks were a distant second to a Mallard. Hunters referred to them as Black Mallards because they were frequently mixed together in flocks. But everybody wanted to shoot the greenheads, so Black Ducks and hen Mallards were just something you settled for.

Whit had decent success on Black Ducks in his life. Once killed a pair that were both banded. That is nice. But as time went on, Morris began to believe that some sort of a hex was on him, because he quit killing Black Ducks. When we hunted out at Pamlico Point we frequently saw Black Ducks scattered along the river shore, especially on a northeast wind. Sort of strange because that wind made the water pretty rough along the shore, but the Black Ducks seemed to love it. They fed on some small crustaceans that grew along the shore, maybe the waves helped them to uncover more of the little morsels, but they were there in fairly good numbers.

So, when we were in the blinds and saw the Black Ducks working the shore, we would take turns trying to sneak up on them. Not always an easy task, but I had virtually 100% success at it. A couple times I even killed a pair and Morris thought that impossible to evade 2 sets of eyes and get close enough for a shot. Whit, on the other hand, came up empty each time it was his turn to sneak up on them. Once he even spooked a bird that was out of range and it flew right to the blind and my Dad killed it. I had Blacks pass by my end of the blind close enough for a shot and killed them regularly, but never on Whit's end of the blind.

One really terrible cold day we almost didn't hunt due to the severe weather. But we went out to try it. Right after daylight I killed a Black Duck that sailed into the decoys while Whit was getting his calls out of his gunning bag. He was astonished by that. But due to the severe weather I guess, later in the morning a flock of 7 Blacks came close by the decoys and landed near the shore and swam back into a little pocket in the grass where we sometimes hid the boat. Morris confidently snuck down there and walked right up on top of them. On his 3rd shot he barely wing-tipped a bird and spent an hour out in Mouse Harbor in 8 degree weather and 20 mph winds searching for it. He finally got the bird, but frostbit his hands out there searching. His luck was bad.

Some time after that we were hunting a private impoundment early in the season. Nothing was moving, but a single Black Duck circled around the marsh and landed a couple hundred yards from us. I told Whit he ought to go jump it and kill it. Almost as a joke he went after it. Oddly enough he was able to sneak up on it and kill the bird. He was elated and when he got back with the bird he proclaimed that now the "Hex" was on me. His skill at stalking that bird had redeemed him and now it was me that was going to suffer. Whatever.

The following morning we were set up in Boar Creek, mostly shooting Teal. Had a decent morning and after the birds pretty much quit flying we were just standing there having a smoke and enjoying the morning. From behind Morris I saw a pair of Black Ducks coming our way. I just stood there not making a move until they were right on us. I pulled up and shot a nice double, dropping the birds almost on top of us. As soon as Whit reached to pick up one of the birds and saw what they were, I asked him what it was he had said the afternoon before about the "Hex" being on me. He just grabbed his gear and went back to the boat. I guess once you get a "Hex" on you it is hard to shake it off. Morris never did. I never knew of him to kill another Black Duck even though I shot them regularly the entire time we hunted together.

The Missing Pintail

One time Whit and I were hunting out of #74. We had a decent enough Bluebill and Scoter shoot, a pretty good day actually. We both shot very well and killed everything that decoyed. We were fairly close to our limit when out of nowhere a beautiful drake Pintail appeared. It came right into the decoys, flared nicely at about 35 yards and gave us a perfect passing shot. We both missed. We stared at each other is disbelief. Neither of us had an excuse, but probably had our heads off the stock waiting to see the bird fall. I never killed a Pintail out of that blind and it certainly would have been a nice addition to our duck strap. But it just wasn't meant to be. Oh well...

When we got finished hunting and picked up the decoys it was still fairly early, about noon I think. We decided we would go to the Spring Creek Impoundment for an afternoon puddleduck hunt. The forecast was for increasing clouds and wind and even a chance of snow, so we thought a small marsh like Spring Creek might pay off that afternoon.

We got to the marsh about 1400 and the weather was really closing in. We decided to hike a pretty good way down the dike to get to a spot where we would have a big woods behind us to break the wind. We set out the decoys in nice calm water. About 1530 the ducks started coming into the marsh. We had a great shoot. Took turns shooting mostly singles and teamed up on the pairs. Gadwall, Wigeon, GW Teal and I think a Wood Duck. Only took us about an hour to shoot a limit.

It had been a truly fine day. Limit of Bluebills and Scoter in the morning and a limit of Puddleducks in the afternoon. Couldn't ask for a better day. The snow on the marsh had made a really picturesque setting. You don't have many days like that.

When we were walking back the dike, Patty and Hoss were just running around enjoying the freedom and all the fresh territory to explore, when suddenly Patty stopped short and started burrowing down into the thick grass along the dike. Whit called and whistled for her, told me he had seen her digging like that before, trying to catch a muskrat. We both had a little chuckle over that and walked on. Whit turned to whistle for her again and here she came running up the dike to catch us with a big Bull Sprig in her mouth. When Whit took the bird from her, it was dead, but still warm and fresh. I told him that I didn't think either one of us had even shot at a Pintail, and that someone else must have hunted there in the morning and crippled the bird. Whit shook his head and said that both of us had thought we missed the duck, but that was our Pintail that got away from us that morning out in #74. That, of course, was totally impossible, but it worked for us.

Bands

Not that I have killed a lot of banded birds, but it is always a treat to kill one. I know that when we moved to Ohio, my Dad didn't have many keepsakes. Not only had he grown up poor, he just wasn't the type to collect any mementos. But in a special little compartment of his dresser be had 3 small silver bands. I used to get them out and read the words and numbers and ask him over and over where the birds had come from. They obviously meant something to my Dad, so they became a real treasure to a little boy. No one else's father had any, only my Dad. Now I have a few of my own and one of my sons has a couple. They hang on a leather string in my den. They are one of the first things I would grab if the house caught on fire; my 870, my Marine Corps Shooting Medals, my duck albums and my bands. Some things just couldn't be replaced with insurance money. The Brannen Luck has limited my collection of bands, but I can remember each of my banded birds and some of the details of the hunts.

1.......Dad .......Black Duck........Oshawa, ONT.............Maysville, KY
2.......Dad........Black Duck........Haliday Lake, ONT....Maysville, KY
3.......Dad........Mallard.............Delta, MB..................Maysville, KY
4...... Me.........Wood Duck........Harpster, OH............Indian Lake
5.......Me.........BW Teal.............Stalwart, SK..............Indian Lake
6.......Me.........Mallard..............Celina, OH................Indian Lake
7.......Dad........BW Teal.............Graettinger, IA.........Indian Lake
8.......Dad........Mallard..............Celina, OH................Celina, OH
9.......Me.........Redhead............Willard, NY...............Indian Lake
10.....Dad........Canada Goose....Celina, OH.................Celina, OH
11.....Dad........Canada Goose.....Celina, OH.................Indian Lake
12.....Me.........Canada Goose.....Celina, OH.................Indian Lake
13.....Dad........BW Teal..............Roberts, ID...............Indian Lake
14.....Me.........Canada Goose.....Harpster, OH.............Indian Lake
15.....Me.........Bluebill...............Tappahannock, VA....New River
16.....Me.........Bluebill...............Grasonville, MD.........New River
17.....Mike......BW Teal..............Port Rowan, ONT.......Hobucken, NC
18.....Me.........Brant..................Hudson Bay, NWT......Chincoteague
19.....Me.........Brant..................Hudson Bay, NWT......Chincoteague
20....Mike......Wood Duck.........Brookhaven, NY.........Maysville, NC
21....Mike.......Brant...................Baffin Island, NT.........Chincoteague
22....Mike - same as above - double banded

I killed #'s 4, 5, 6 in 2 days at Walnut Island in 1967.

I shot #9 from the Reed Patch in 1968.

Dad and I shot #'s 11, 12 on the same pass at Walnut Island in 1969.

#14 was the last goose I killed at Indian Lake, No Name Island in 1981.

I killed #'s 15, 16 exactly a year apart at Hospital Point on 1/3/83 and 1/3/84.

I killed #'s 18, 19 at Chincoteague on 1/2/04 and 1/3/04, 20 years after my last banded bird.

Dad and I killed 9 banded birds from 1967-1969. We were really on a roll. Fizzled out after that.

Mike's double banded Brant was the first time he had ever gotten anything like that.

The only other bands I've been around were: a BW Teal and a Pintail that Whit killed up at Lowland, a Wood Duck that Trevor killed on the White Oak River, a Brant that Kelly killed the same trip that I got mine, a double banded Eider that Dave Schneider shot up in Maine, and a Ross' Goose that Rich Kasunic killed when I went to Saskatchewan. One day in Mouse Harbor my Dad, Whit and I had a flock of Canvasbacks land in the decoys, we didn't shoot due to the season being closed on them. When they flew we all could see a band on one of the drakes. Morris almost lost his mind over that one. I saw a neck banded Swan up in Hyde County but it got by the decoys before I saw it. I tried to stalk it but couldn't get close enough.

Advice

When it comes to setting decoys and decoying birds, I think I'm pretty knowledgeable. I don't much care for other people telling me how I should do things. But, even if I don't take any immediate action to change things, if I have any respect for the person who critiques my handiwork, I keep those suggestions in my memory bank. Maybe someday, down the pike, I may need some help.

My Father, his friend Joe Bysak from Ohio, Mike McGee and I were hunting on Mouse Harbor. It was a near perfect day. Good wind, plenty of birds, overcast sky, pretty near perfect. We were seeing plenty of ducks, and getting a little shooting, but things weren't going as well as I thought they should have. McGee and I talked over the decoy set, we were satisfied with what we had. We moved the boats farther from the blind and covered them up a little better, but still, things just weren't clicking like I thought they should have. Dad started telling me what all I had done wrong and it really rubbed me the wrong way. I told him that McGee and I had been hunting that blind for a few years and knew how to set the decoys to get the birds in range. He went on and on till I really got pissed and started hollering at him. Finally he and Joe told me they would go out and move the decoys a little and show me what was needed. That was a joke. So I told him I would make whatever changes they thought was necessary. All they said we needed was about 6 more Scoter decoys put out in an angular line outside the pocket of our fishhook pattern. I thought that was ridiculous, but went back to the boat and got out 6 more decoys and put them just where the 2 old "know it alls" said to put them. I was determined to show them they were clueless.

Well, as much as I hate to admit it, they were right. All the birds that had been passing us by a little out of range suddenly started coming right in. We pulled in singles, little bunches of half a dozen or so, and flocks of 30-35 birds. Everything really fell into place. Joe shot so much his old 1100 broke down. Dad got it working a little, so at least he had a single shot. We had one pass on 9 Scoter that we killed them all. That is always cool. Worked the dogs pretty hard. Had a nice flock of Bills decoy perfectly and McGee was able to pick out a Canvasback hen flying with them and add her to the bag. The limits were liberal back then. All in all we killed 22 Bluebills, 15 Scoter and Mike McGee's Canvasback. The day turned out to be exactly what I had hoped for that morning. I have used that trick a few times since then when ducks weren't decoying exactly right. It hasn't ever worked for me again. But on that day in Mouse Harbor, I was glad I took the advice of the Old Timers.

Every Now and Then

It doesn't happen all that often, but periodically we get a strange, but welcome, visitor to Rhodes Point. Actually, we have killed a lot of different species from the blind. I hunted Hospital Point for years and killed about 5 ducks total besides Bluebills and Canvasbacks. Our new blind generally produces one or two bonus ducks, or geese, each season.

The Snow Goose came all the way from Gray Point flying right along side a Lesser Blackback Gull. It was noon on January 1st about 5-6 years ago. I was just sitting there gazing at the only 2 birds in the sky when I realized that one of them was not a Seagull. It now hangs on the wall of my family room.

I know a fellow who is writing a book on duck hunting on the New River and according to him, nobody ever heard of a Snow Goose being killed there. Total strangers used to stop by the blind and ask me about it.

The Canada Goose that Kelly is holding was one out of a nice sized flock. Of course with the Brannen Luck, I was out in the boat chasing a crippled White Wing Scoter for Mike and the Geese went right over the blind. Mike missed and Kelly killed one. I always kept a few heavy 'goose loads' sitting on the blind shelf, just in case. When Kelly saw the geese coming she reloaded with a #6 Heavy Shot water kill load that was on the shelf, instead of a goose load. She got her bird though.

The 2 big Mallard drakes were pretty neat. Right at shooting time 3 puddleducks came over Kelly and I from behind. It was a very dark cloudy morning (at least at 0645 it was) and I assumed they were Black Ducks. We both shot and thought maybe we crippled one, but never saw it on the water. A couple feathers was all. We were both crushed by our poor shooting. 2 hours later the day had turned into a real Bluebird day. Wind and clouds all gone, just bright sun and glare on the water. Kelly suddenly whispered to me that there were two ducks on the water just beyond the point to our left. I glassed them and saw the 2 nice Mallards. I called for a few minutes and they came right to us. We both had ours mounted. I assume we did cripple or at least scare the third bird out of that bunch that passed us early, but those 2 drakes couldn't stay away.

We killed a Mallard drake and a drake Black Duck that were flying together one time. Even had an immature Eider cross the decoys one day and I didn't shoot because I wasn't sure what it was until too late.

Nice to kill an odd bird every once in a while, but the Bluebills are what keep us going back.

The Contest

One year when we were having a really great year, I decided to have a little contest the last day of the season. Part of the reason for the contest was to entice my son Kevin to come out to the blind and hunt with me. He used to hunt with me a lot, but as he has grown older he prefers other types of hunting. Deer first, then rabbit, then squirrel then probably duck hunting, and he prefers to be on the move. Sneaking and jump hunting suits him better than sitting in a blind. Also, the reduced limits on Bluebills, when the limit is much better on almost all other species, tends to send him elsewhere when he decides to duck hunt. My other son, Mike, just likes to shoot and with Bluebills being virtually a sure thing, he goes to the blind with me whenever he can. Of course, Kelly is fairly new to duck hunting and 95% of her shooting has come from a blind, so you can't hardly run her off. Blizzard, thunderstorm, cyclone, she is always there banging away at the Bluebills.

On to the contest. I had shot plenty of birds that year so I said I would be the "caller". The 3 of them would sit in the blind with their hands on their knees and whenever a single came by that I thought was killable, I would say "go". Then they would race to see who could kill the bird the fastest. In retrospect, it was probably a bad idea. Mike always was a fast shot, but that made him even more conscious of it, and he hurries so much that he 'short shucks' his 870 about half the time. Kelly gets wildly excited by any competition, so she went crazy. Kevin was always a great shot, but just a touch deliberate (like Whit) I thought. I was wrong. When he needs to shoot fast he is as quick as his brother. I would clean up any cripples, or if all 3 of them missed I would shoot the bird just to show them it was in range.

So the contest went well. They all shot at every bird and all argued over which one of them had killed it. It was a blast. By playing the little game we stretched a measly 3 bird limit into a whole days shooting by me only calling the shot on singles. Made for a great way to end the season.

We also got a couple bonus ducks that day. I was out working the dog and maybe Kevin and Kelly were both out of the blind at the time doing no one knows what. The ever vigilant Mike was manning the parapet when a nice drake Redhead came right in. Actually a small flock came by, but only the one was in range. At the time it was the only Redhead we had ever killed at Rhodes Point and Mike's first one.

Need to interject a little background info at this point. A couple days before this, Kelly and I had seen a hen Bluebill with white wings. We saw her twice that day, or else saw 2 of them that looked the same. We hadn't been able to get her over the decoys but it was sort of neat to see an oddity like that. So on into the afternoon we had a pass of Bluebills and I wasn't going to call it since there was a whole flock of them. At the last second we all saw a drake Bluebill with white wings and Kevin killed it. I guess he would have to be crowned champion for the day, because when it really mattered, he was the quickest shot. The bird turned out to be a Bluebill X Bufflehead cross. Big patch of white in each wing, pink feet, pink lower bill and strangely enough, a white ring around it's neck.

Kelly had a Bluebill mounted from her birds that day, Mike had his Redhead mounted and Kevin had the BuffleBill done. So, the "contest" turned into a fine day all around.

The New River

The New River is my favorite place to shoot ducks. Maybe not the best place, but I have some wonderful memories of gunning there. For those not familiar with the New, it is more like a bay or a sound. 5 miles wide, 15 miles long, and shallow enough to wade all over except the dredged channel in the middle. Flows out through the New River Inlet into the ocean. It can be very salty, full of all saltwater fish and shellfish or with a lot of rain it can freshen up quite a bit. But the channel out in the middle keeps the sea water moving and it always returns to salt water.

Before 1964-65 there was no channel and New River Inlet was sort of a mythical thing, sometimes open sometimes closed off completely by the sand so that you couldn't even tell there had ever been an inlet. The river was fresh water back then. Eel grass, wild celery, wigeon grass, cattails, lilly pads; just like any freshwater lake. Puddleducks, Canada Geese and Canvasbacks were the winter visitors. An old timer told me his Father hunted the New River for 50 years and never saw Bluebills there to speak of until the channel was dredged in the mid 60's and that was when he got too old to hunt.

When I first hunted there in the mid 70's there was still some bottom vegetation and more Cans than Bluebills, but that was coming to an end. Last time I saw Cans there in any numbers was the mid 90's.

Heard a couple different reasons for the dredging. Some say it was to allow for barges to move the timber being harvested locally, some say it was for the Marines to be able to run Landing Craft on the river for training and transportation back and forth. Corps of Engineers dredged the channel and still keep it open with periodic dredging. I have heard that they might lose funding for keeping New River Inlet dredged. They say that over time the entire ecology of the river would revert to how it was before they ever opened up the inlet and the channel. Maybe my grandsons will shoot Pintails and Canadas from my old Bluebill blind at Rhodes Point. Love
to see that.

I have a story to tell as sort of a sideline to the history of the New River. Back about 1973 there was a very serious duck hunter who lived in Sneads Ferry. His name was Nick Juvenetti. Everybody knew and liked him. He had blinds all over the river, including my Rhodes Point. Had a concrete sinkbox at Spring Point (I think). At least for a period of a few years he was the most widely known duck hunter on the river. A Canvasback killing machine. Well as the story was told to me, he and 2 friends were hunting the mouth of French Creek on Thanksgiving Day. When they quit they headed across the river to a landing (Rhodes Point?) They were in a 14 foot boat with no running lights and they were run down by a towboat and a couple barges. The towboat pilot apparently never even knew he hit them, because he didn't stop to help. So the 3 guys all tried to decide what to do and they each chose differently. One stayed with the capsized boat and eventually came to a dayboard off Gray Point and climbed up to safety until he was rescued. One headed back towards the eastern bank because he thought that was closer. He also made it to safety. Juvenetti swam for the west bank and never made it. They say he probably died happy because he had Canvasback for dinner the night before and was out doing what he loved the most. Sad story, but part of the lore of the New River.

The Hollow Log

Back on the shore about 150 yards from the Hospital Point blind was a fallen cypress tree. Half on the bank, half in the water. The main part of the trunk was hollow. Guess you can figure out the gist of this story.

As I've alluded to, I am not much of a poacher. Anybody can periodically make a mistake, or can call it a mistake after the fact. The New River used to have more Canvasbacks than it did Bluebills. That was great until the FWS decided the Canvasbacks weren't doing well and greatly reduced the limit and eventually closed the season entirely. Even though it's not necessarily based on a lot of scientific data, if I see 2ooo Cans in a day and see 20 Bluebills that same day, I tend to believe the Canvasback population isn't in such dire straights as the Feds seem to think.

Anyhow, Dad came down from Ohio to hunt with me for a week or so. I had been shooting a fair number of Bills and seeing thousands of Cans for 2 straight weeks before Dad got here. So, the first morning he hunted we shot a few Bluebills. Nothing spectacular, but a half dozen or so. He was enjoying himself and so was I. He spotted another bunch of ducks winging our way and told me to get ready. It was 100% obvious to me that they were Cans. They even slightly circled the Bluebill decoys to come in on the side of the spread where I had put out the Canvasback decoys. Dad called the shot, so I thought he was fine with shooting the Cans. We both came up firing and as soon as Dad shot once he hollered "Cans!" I continued to swing on the birds and replied "I know". When Hoss brought them all in, Dad started getting nervous. We hadn't seen a human all morning, but Dad really got worried. I stashed the ducks in the hollow log and we continued to hunt.

Hour or so later a car pulled up on the bank behind the blind. That really made Dad nervous. He took my binoculars and peeked back at the car. First thing he focused on was the driver of the car staring back at him with binos. Dad went crazy then. I tried to calm him down. Eventually the guy in the car finished his lunch and left. Him being there had nothing to do with us, just a Marine looking for a quiet place to eat his lunch.

Dad wouldn't let me go get the Canvasbacks until we had the decoys up and gone back to the Marina and put the boat on the trailer. Finally I convinced him it would be OK to go get our ducks. Typical Dad, once we made it home safely he became the big story teller of the day's events. Whatever. Guess it is a good thing that hollow log never started telling stories. Quite a few of us might be in a little trouble.

Sardines

Some days I pack a fairly nice lunch when I go out duck hunting. Some days I cram a little snack in my pocket and get by with that. Years ago we used to hunt with a little kerosene stove in the blind. We would warm up cans of soup and make toasted bologna and cheese sandwiches. That was really almost necessary when I used to hunt up North in the colder weather. Especially since ever day I went out, I planned on staying till dark.

But, in the beginning, we had to rough it. We never knew for sure where we could hunt; maybe in a blind, maybe just standing in the reeds in a marsh. So we truly packed light. Generally a can of sardines was lunch. Hard to carry crackers in your pocket without breaking them, so after you would eat a few of the sardines with your knife blade, you could add a few crumbled crackers to the remaining sardines and have sort of a cold casserole. I remember one time my Dad accused me of adding the fluff from cattails to the sardines to make it a more substantial meal. Seemed to fill me up better.

One day a full gale was blowing so Dad and I had to tuck back in the big marsh at Lucy's Pond. We figured a few birds would come into the marsh to escape the wind. A few did. Fairly early in the morning a beautiful Redhead drake sailed right in and Dad killed it. A couple hours later a Mallard hen circled a few times then landed a couple hundred yards away, out in some heavy reeds. Chief and I were able to sneak up on her and I made a long shot when she flew. So we each had a nice duck on a day that hadn't looked too promising, so we were OK. About noon I broke out my trusty can of sardines and sat down on a little hillside about 20 yards back from the edge of the marsh to enjoy my lunch. I leaned my 870 against a tree and sat there pretty comfortably taking my time fishing those sardines out of the can with my pocketknife. About halfway through my meal Dad hollered for me to look out in front of us. A BW Teal was coming straight at me, pretty high, ignoring the decoys and gaining altitude to get above the trees where I was sitting. I had to move fast. I stuck my knife in a tree trunk, balanced the half full can of sardines on my knee, grabbed my gun and snapped off a shot when the bird was straight overhead. Before I could even turn to see if I'd hit the bird, Chief already had it. I reloaded and set my gun back against the tree and got my knife and returned to my meal. I had balanced that can on my knee and not spilled a single fish. I guess when you are hungry enough you can accomplish some amazing feats.

Sea Ducks

We killed a few Scoter at Indian Lake in Ohio. Probably birds that got confused on their migration path when they left Lake Erie. But it was just a few and never something we tried for. When I was hunting up on the Eastern Shore I made friends with a Sea Duck hunter. He introduced me to Scoter and Oldsquaw hunting. We shot a lot of them but a couple days gunning really stick out in my memory.

We were hunting out of Rich's 22 foot, white, Mako sportfishing boat. Sitting in the middle of Eastern Bay, just south of Kent Island. He put out 3 long lines of plastic jugs painted black with some mixture of paint and pitch. He had a pretty neat way of winding the long line and having all the jugs hang a certain way. He had been doing it for years and was an accomplished Sea Duck hunter. So anyhow, that day my brother Tom, Rich and I were shooting Scoters with pretty good success. Tom and I were sitting on milk cartons in the stern of the boat and Rich was taking his turn in the bow (just in case ducks would circle the boat). A pair of Black Scoters came right up the decoys and got to within 25 yards of the stern of the boat so Tom and I shot. I killed my bird with one shot and Tom missed his bird all 3 shots. So I emptied my gun at his bird. The bird circled the boat and Rich also emptied his gun. We reloaded as fast as we could and the duck came around the boat again. 17 times we shot at that bird, and for all I know he is still flying around Eastern Bay laughing at us.

Another interesting hunt was near the mouth of the Chester River. Rich and I and a friend of Rich's were set up on a really cold, windy, miserable day. The other fellow had brought his Lab out to retrieve for us. It was so rough the dog got sick. Waves were breaking into the boat and the entire deck was awash with pink stained water from all the duck blood. The other hunter was having a rough time with the weather conditions. He was sitting down in the bow of the boat trying to calm his dog down when I noticed that he had set his gun down in about 4 inches of water in the bottom of the boat. I hollered at him, "Get that gun up out of the water, that's a Pigeon Grade Model 12!" He answered, "It's alright, it's not mine, I borrowed it." Whatever, I killed 21 Oldsquaws with one box of shells that day. 4 dram, 1 3/8 ounces of #6's. Used the small shot because we were shooting Oldsquaw not Scoter, even though it was awful windy. Good day for me, not so good of a day for the other guys.

Outlawgunner ???

I read a book titled the 'Outlaw Gunner' and always thought that sounded pretty neat. But actually that title doesn't fit me at all. I have been, and will always be, about the most legal hunter around. Probably comes from 2 things. First, my Father was a Policeman and always insisted on me being a law-abiding person. Second, I have a tremendous respect and admiration for the ducks and geese I hunt. To kill them in any manner that was not "sporting" would be disrespectful.

I am not saying that I haven't bent or broken any hunting laws. But for the most part I am a true Boy Scout. I don't shoot early or late. I don't hunt over bait. I don't hunt where I don't have permission. I don't hunt out of season. All those things would make it too simple, and ducks deserve better.

I will admit to shooting over the limit on a few occasions. I have written stories here that mention doing that. I guess my excuse for it is that I don't ever get to hunt nearly the entire season. So, when I do get the chance to hunt, and the ducks are cooperating, I 'catch up' for some of those days that I had to work and couldn't hunt. Also, I study on the duck populations as much or more than anyone except people who do it for a living. If in my mind, the limit on a certain species is set far lower than that species should be, I sort of set my own limit. But never to the point of being wasteful. I have eaten more Scoters than I have hamburgers in my life. That alone should give me a "get out of jail free" card. I have had great retrievers and out of the 10,000 or so ducks that I've been in on killing, probably less than 50 cripples have been lost. Hard to believe? Come hunt with me, or ask my hunting partners. I have spoiled entire mornings because I had a cripple down and I refused to get back to hunting until I found the cripple. That goes back to my respect for the birds.

I also never have more than the legal limit in my possession. Sometimes when we have a large crowd of hunters, and some guys have to leave early or have had enough, they get to take their limit home with them. Maybe mine as well. But I don't ever do that unless I am sure that the person who takes the birds home is going to eat them. I refused to be involved with wasting of birds. Another of my crimes is shooting other hunters birds for them when they have trouble hitting anything. But, I have never recruited non-shooters just so I could kill their birds. There have been times when I have shot a limit in the morning and another in the evening, but there have also been times when I was in a foreign country fighting a war and missed entire hunting seasons.

During the times when the numbers of birds killed was really high (Saskatchewan/Argentina) I have always ensured that the birds were properly disposed of. That meant finding a hungry person who wanted/needed something for his dinner table. It's a pretty satisfying feeling to hand a 100 pound burlap bag of freshly killed ducks to a poor Argentinian who lives under a piece of tin that blew off someones barn. Or to deliver a big pan of goose breasts to the Food Bank in Saskatoon.

Overall, I've been hunting 45 years, the duck season has probably averaged 50 days per season. So, in 2250 possible hunting days in my life, I have averaged about 2.5 birds per day. So I have some catching up to do if I want to just have the limit for each day.

Calling my compilation of stories 'Ethicalhunter' would have been a little bland, but probably a lot more accurate.

Brannen Luck

A couple different hunters have told me that under normal circumstances, a duck hunter should get a banded bird about every 100th duck that he kills. They say that is what statistical data reveals. Of course that whole equation gets knocked out when you hunt near a banding facility. I knew some guys who hunted in Canada for several years and only had a few bands to show for it. Then a big banding effort went into action about 50 miles north of them and they killed a couple hundred banded birds in 2 seasons. Then the banding operation moved away and they are back to normal percentages. I imagine that there are parts of the country where no one ever gets a banded bird because nobody bands in the migratory corridor north of them. I prefer to move around a lot so as to avoid banded birds :-)

In most everything that I do in life, I refer to the 'Brannen Luck'. It is pretty much a total lack of good luck. Not necessarily bad luck, but not good luck. That certainly extends to my success at bagging banded birds. I not only jinx myself, but pretty much everybody I hunt with. Besides the small handful of bands that I have, only 4 of my partners have ever shot a banded bird while we were hunting together.

I killed the majority of my banded birds back in Ohio. The banded geese I've gotten were banded just 40 miles from where I killed them at Indian Lake. A Mallard and a Wood Duck that I killed there, were also banded close by. I killed a BW Teal banded in Saskatchewan and a Redhead banded in New York. Certainly nothing to get excited about, but at least they had flown in from out of state.

Here in Carolina I have killed 2 banded Bluebills. They were banded the same day up on Chesapeake Bay and I killed one of them the following Winter and the other one exactly a year later, both out of the Hospital Point blind. Then I went one day short of 20 years until I killed a banded Brant up on Chincoteague Island, then I killed another the next day. I've not killed another banded bird since then. My son Mike has killed 3 banded birds, my other son Kevin has none. My steady hunting partner for the past 10 years, Kelly Murphy, has 1 banded Brant and no ducks.

So back to the theory of 1 banded bird for every 100 killed. If that worked out, I would have 100 bands and my hunting partners would have another 100. Brannen Luck is strong.

Swans

We have been really lucky with our Swan hunting. For about 20 years all of my partners got drawn for Swan Permits. Not these past few years, but for a long time we really had it going. Mike McGee and I killed our first Swans out in the Goose Creek Impoundment. But since then we have hunted them in fields in Hyde County. One of our friends and neighbors in Lowland just happened to have some cousins over in Hyde County that owned farms really close to the Pungo Refuge and we had tremendous success.

For years we just used a dozen silhouette decoys. That was all we needed. Brought those huge birds within 20 yards of our guns. They are a little tough to kill since we went to non-toxic shot, but at that range you could kill them with slingshots. Usually hunt them in Winter Wheat fields. The Swans need to eat a lot to survive, so they are easy to decoy when they think a good meal is waiting. I would have to say that after being shot for 25 seasons they are more wary now than when we first hunted them. But my friends that hunt them regularly always get their birds.

I know some guys who do a little guiding for Swans and they have all killed banded birds. Even a few with leg and neck bands. I saw a neck banded bird once when Dad and I and my sons were hunting. But I was so intent on getting good shots for the boys that I didn't even see the bird with the collar until it had flown by and landed out in the wheat field. I made an attempt to run it down and get a shot, but I was slower than the Swan and never caught up with it.

I was on a goose hunt up there one year with Emmet Rice and we had hundreds of Swan decoy to us over the 2 day hunt, maybe thousands. I watched for a real trophy bird and late the second day I bagged a huge bird. 26 pounds after I gutted it. That bird reigned supreme until Kevin topped it. The picture of him above shows just how big that bird was. Kevin is not a small man and you can get an idea of the bird's size. We did a lot of measuring after we got the bird home. The wingspan was 98" and the bird weighed 29 pounds. My previous record would have come close if I had weighed it before field dressing it, but not in the overall size of the bird. I can't imagine what a Trumpeter Swan would be like. Supposedly they average 40 pounds.

Years ago the Professor up in Maryland told me he killed a Swan and it tasted so bad that he would never kill another. I think they taste great. Of course the young birds are a lot more tender, but it is hard for me to pick out a juvenile with all those white monsters coming to the decoys.

We all used to joke about working out some contest with the winner getting to shoot all the Swan he could on a pass, and the losers tagging them. But with the 'one bird per year limit" we never followed through with our plan. A couple years back I was helping out a guide with a crowd of first time Swan hunters. The guys talked a good game, but couldn't hit anything. After about 3 passes that they failed to score I was getting a little worried that they wouldn't get a bird and my guide friend would have to refund their money. The 3 of them were in the blind and Kelly Murphy and I were hunkered down in a ditch right next to the blind. The next flock of birds that came by I told Kelly to go ahead and get her bird. She folded a big mature bird with one shot and then the 'sports' opened up. I also started shooting. 2 of the guys happily ran out into the field to retrieve 'their' birds, and I picked up mine. Everybody was excited except for the last man. Sorry. I couldn't fit 4 shells in my gun.

When I count to 3...

Dad, Harry Fleming and I were hunting in the Walnut Island blind. We were having a pretty slow day. As I recall, Dad and I had each killed a GW Teal and that was it. Whatever, a day in the blind is better than a day anywhere else.

Way off we saw a flock of geese. Harry had an old plastic Olt call that was real loud. He cranked it up and sure enough the birds seemed to turn towards us. They may have just been coming our way on their own, but soon enough they were actually within workable range. Dad and I each had Herter's goose calls. They were identical, but had entirely different tones. We started calling along with Harry and sure enough the geese responded. They started answering back and making a beeline for our decoys. At 200 yards out they set their wings and sailed down, just outside the decoys. We clucked around a little more and they swam right into our spread.

We watched as they tipped up, looking for a bite to eat, chased each other around, honking some, clucking some. It was fantastic to just watch them. At one point, Dad said to shoot now because half of them had their heads under water and wouldn't hear us. After a few minutes of watching, we decided to let them have it. The last thing Dad said was to be careful not to shoot too many. The limit was 2 Canada's apiece. Without saying a word to each other, Dad and I knew to let Harry fire the first shot on the water and we'd have easy pickings when they started to take off. I actually decided to let both of them shoot before I opened up. So Dad counted slowly to 3 and the plan went into action. I saw birds falling and everything was looking good. I killed a nice Honker with my first barrel and swung on another bird. Just as I pulled the trigger, apparently, a couple 'extra' birds flew by in behind the bird I was shooting at. 3 birds rolled out of the air with my second shot. For a minute all was silent. 8 dead geese on the water. Then Dad whispered, we had to think of something pretty quick, every hunter on the bay saw those birds come and go from our decoys, and we don't know who else may have been watching.

As it turned out, 2 of the birds were just crippled and started swimming out. We let them go. Just went about working old Chief and holding up birds, putting on a big show for anybody and everybody's benefit. When we had 6 birds in the blind we started watching the 2 cripples. About that time a boat appeared and came right towards the blind. We got a little nervous. Turned out to be another hunter, a guy we hardly knew. He came up and told us that there was another crippled bird out in the lake. We told him that we had our limit and that actually there were 2 birds out there that he could have if he wanted to chase them down. He said alright and headed out. He only found 1 of them, but I could still see the other one. After he was gone back to his blind I went out in the boat and started herding the other cripple towards a friend of ours who was in a nearby blind. I took it real slow until the bird got close then I gunned the motor. The bird actually got off the water for a short flight into our friend's decoys. He dropped the bird, gave me the thumbs up and I headed back.

So, everything ended on a good note. Actually it didn't end there. That night a knock came on the door of the cottage. I answered the door and it was the hunter we hardly knew. He had cleaned the goose he retrieved and brought it to us. We thanked him, but told him to keep the bird. So everybody was good to go.

Argentina Again

My third trip to Argentina was a little different than the first two trips. Nobody was interested in shooting geese. I wanted to concentrate on the ducks, there were still 2 species that I hoped to kill (unfortunately I still do). Actually I was hoping to maybe get in a 2 day goose hunt and then ducks for the rest of the week. The outfitter I go with hunts geese a few hundred miles from where he hunts ducks. So you can't do both at the same time. I think of myself as a duck hunter first and foremost, but still look forwad to shooting geese down there again. Anyhow, the party I went with included 2 elderly gentlemen (85 years old) and me. We overlapped a couple days with another party of 3 that had actually gone for a week's goose hunt, but the season was abruptly stopped so they ended up at the duck lodge as well.


The old guys were old. One was crippled and crazy, the other very cantankerous. I didn't enjoy their company very much. But the duck shooting was fabulous. We stayed at Daniel's lodge at Engr Luigi in the La Pampa province. Had an hour and a half ride to the duck marsh each morning. That was a bit much, but he had several different blinds all around a very large lake/swamp. I think there was sort of an irrigation project gone sour. The drought was already in full swing but we had water. The water even seemed to be rising or at the very least steady, while the rest of the country was drying up. I hunted 2 days over flooded soy beans, 1 day in flooded corn, one day on the edge of a large open water part of the lake, and two days out in the middle of a huge natural marsh. All of the locations were on the same body of water, but pretty far apart.


We shot ducks each morning. I killed the outfitter's limit of 50 birds in about 1 1/2 - 2 hours each morning. The old guys shot a lot as well, but I never really counted their birds. They claimed to be lifelong duck hunters, but neither seemed all that interested in the birds. I never saw either one of them examine or look closely at all the different species we killed.


In the afternoons we shot pigeons, doves, parrots and perdiz. I killed a beautiful Rio Grand Turkey one afternoon, and the old guys each shot a wild ram. The pigeon shooting was great. A very relaxed way to spend the afternoon shooting. I have never shot many doves in Argentina. Usually the first afternoon I'll shoot 50 just to warm up a little and get ready for the ducks but there are so many that there is no hunting to it, just shooting, and that is really not my thing.


We had one really crazy weather day that year. I was hunting on the edge of about a 100 acre open water lake. Bad luck that the wind was in my face (they have so many ducks down there that they don't have to think things through like we do here in the States.) Anyhow, I noticed the wind was coming up and the waves were hitting my legs right through the front of the little grass blind I was in. After about an hour I noticed my feet were getting a little chilly. I looked down at the water around my feet, trying to be careful where I stepped in the floor (?) of the blind, and noticed that there was ice on my waders. By the time I finished shooting the ice was forming pretty fast and the temperature was dropping fast. While we were driving back to the lodge the wind came up real strong. First time I ever saw tumbleweeds. They were blowing by at Warp 9. By the time we reached the lodge, they had closed the storm shutters and were preparing for a real blow. The wind got up to close to 100 mph and the wind chill must have gone way below zero. We had big fires in both firplaces and it stayed warm in the lodge, but if you put your hand on the concrete, outside walls of the house, they were cold enough that your hand would almost freeze to the wall. That was inside the house! I ventured outside a couple times to have a smoke and it was really rough. They said that wind storms were fairly common in La Pampa, but not in the Winter. After 4-5 hours it all blew out and the weather returned to normal. Took until afternoon the next day for the dust to all settle. Pretty bizarre.


The trip was wonderful. I have made such good friends with the Bird Boys, that they truly seem excited to see me when I arrive at the ranch. We have a good time making fun of all the other hunters. I did miss my old amigo, Jorge. He apparently fell on some hard times and was unable to work with Daniel that season. His replacement as the senior bird boy, Luis, drove me to Jorge's home on the way back to the airport just so we could visit for a few minutes. It seems that I have more friends in Argentina than I do here at home. Hunting and friendship seem to run hand in hand.