First Retrieves

First retrieve I ever saw made was me, retrieving a Mallard drake for my Dad out on the North Fork of the Licking River in Kentucky.  Got scolded for venturing down to the water's edge to get the duck, while our retriever "Boo" was running up and down the creek, clueless as usual.

Chief made his first retrieve when he was just five months old.  During the Teal Season, Dad and I were hunting in Blackbird Basin, at Indian Lake.  About sunset, we were ready to give up, no Teal around at all.  Dad decided to poach a Wood Duck, just for the dog to get to make a retrieve.  Chief made a fine mark on a Woodie that fell in heavy cattails.  The first of many.

Hoss made his first retrieve out at Hospital Point, on the New River.  Hunting by myself, on the first day I got to hunt, I knocked down a drake Bufflehead, that fell crippled a long way out.  Hoss made a long swim to the bird, far enough away that I was watching through binoculars.  Just as he reached for the bird, it turned and pecked him in the face.  He turned and swam straight back to the blind.  Had a bloody spot on his cheek.  Who would have thought it.  125 pound Chesapeake Bay Retriever, who would fight the devil himself, wounded by a one pound Buff.   I rode out in the boat, shot the bird, then went back to the blind and sent Hoss again.  Worked out better the second time.

Cain's first retrieve was pretty amazing.  Some friends and I were spread out in the myrtle along a ditch at Catfish Lake Impoundment.  Just at sunrise, we got a pass on Ringnecks.  Knocked down five birds that were scattered over about 60-70 yards of spotty, open water, and vegetation.  Cain marked all five birds.  Each retrieve, I merely called him to heel and said "Back".  He had all the birds marked perfectly.  I guess that I knew right then, he was going to be really special.

Tully's first retrieve came out at my blind at Rhodes Point, on the New River.  Nothing fancy or complicated.  Just an ordinary retrieve on a Bluebill drake, right at the edge of the decoys.  That was the story of his life.  Routinely fetching hundreds of Bluebills, then anxiously awaiting the next one.

I can remember them all, just like it was yesterday.

Mallard Drake

The first wild duck that I ever saw killed was a Mallard drake.  Dad shot it on the North Fork of the Licking River back home in Kentucky.  I think all the rest of the ducks that he killed in Kentucky, when I was allowed to tag along, were Black Mallards, as he called them back then.  He killed plenty of Mallards, but not when I was with him.

After we moved to Ohio, and started hunting at Indian Lake, Wood Ducks made up a high percentage of his bag.  Mostly due to where he hunted on the lake.  As soon as he got a blind on the open water, we shot a pretty good variety of ducks.  Unfortunately, I didn't seem to get any shooting on Mallards. I think it was my second season of hunting our blind on Hermit Island when a nice little flock of Mallards sailed into the decoys about 10 minutes before quitting time.  I was in the middle of the blind between Dad and Harry Fleming.  The ducks decoyed beautifully.  The sun was behind us, shining brightly on the ducks, so I could clearly pick out the drakes and hens.  There was a drake to the left, a drake to the right, and five hens in the middle.  Dad doubled, Harry got the drake on the right and I killed a hen.  It was so bittersweet.  I had finally gotten a Mallard, but a hen.  The big Greenhead still eluded me.

By the following year, my shooting was getting a lot better.  The first day I got to hunt I got a double on Wood Ducks, one of them was banded.  An hour later, I killed a banded BW Teal.  My season was off to a good start.  Then Dad killed a banded Mallard Drake.  Huh, there it was again.  Dad even started joking with me, calling me "the hen man".  I killed two Mallards that season, but both were hens.  The following year I finally got my Mallard drake, but one of my Dad's friends took credit for it.  The next year, I killed my first Canada Goose, and about 7-8 new species, and a few Mallard hens.

By the following year, I had shot so many pigeons, crows, doves, and Coot that I was a pretty darn good wing shot.  I decided that there would be no more of Dad's buddies claiming my ducks.  First day that I got to hunt that year,  I killed a drake Mallard early in the morning, and killed a double on them later that afternoon.  The next day I doubled twice on Mallard drakes.  A couple weeks later, over on a different lake, I jumped some Mallards and tripled, two drakes and a hen.

Starting then, the tables had turned.  I was a Greenhead killing machine.  At times, much to the dismay of my gunning partners.  I make it clear to everybody that I hunt with; if Mallards decoy, the drake is always on my side.