Chincoteague Island Brant

Our NC duck season ended a little abruptly, when I tore up my boat trailer on the rough road to the Rhodes Point blind.  Mike brought to my attention, that in Virginia the Brant season stayed open a couple days after the regular duck season closed.  I called some guides up there, one wasn't too encouraging, but the other (whom I hadn't hunted with before)  said that he could put us on Brant.  Even offered a money back guarantee if we didn't get any shooting.  So I reserved the last two days of the season.

Typically, the weather forecast turned sour for those days, but we headed on up there anyhow.  As we got settled in to our motel, the weather followed the forecast and got pretty rough.  Winds NNW at 15-25, gusts to 35, and snow.  It looked to be a real hoot.  We saw the guide's boat at the landing near our motel.  Good sized Carolina skiff, with some really nice looking Brant decoys.  Turned out the decoys were Tanglefree brand and they looked great on the water.

Capt Pete, our guide, showed up the next morning and had us sign some paperwork.  During the course of our conversation, the guarantee of getting shooting turned in to a guarantee of seeing Brant.   Whatever.  We were there and it was too late to cancel.  So we headed out into the dark, with somewhat diminished expectations.

He put us in a pretty run down blind.  The big ice/snow storm a couple weeks before had stripped 90% of the brush off the blind.  After daylight, we could see that nearly all the blinds in the area were in similar shape.  He put out the decoys and told us that he would be back to pick up our birds and service the decoys.  Little did we know just what an ordeal "servicing" the decoys would be.

When the tide came in, it brought tons of sea lettuce with it.  It tangles on the decoy cords, and could literally wash a decoy 100 yards away in just a couple minutes.  I would rig my decoys differently but Capt Pete just continued to come back, throw fresh decoys in front of the blind, then drop off down wind and gather up the strays.  Unfortunately when the first big flock of Brant moved, we had about half our spread in a small bunch about 100 yards down from the blind.  Of course, the Brant decoyed there, out of gun range.  It was a huge flock, several hundred birds.  Beautiful to watch, but disappointing.  Finally a pair of Brant broke from the big flock and made a good pass in front of the blind.  Perfect shot.

Capt Pete moved us from blind to blind, even once to an exposed sandbar nearby the feeding Brant.  We came close, but didn't get any more shooting.  Not skunked, but a little disappointed.

The next morning it was a lot colder, wind was dying some, and the snow was gone, so we headed out again.  Pretty much a repeat of the previous day, except no shooting.  Brant were moving by the thousands, following the ebbing tide, but we just couldn't coax the huge flocks into our decoys.  Finally, about noon, a flock of four Brant broke off a big flock and came at us over the land in behind the blind, then over a marsh.  We were half afraid to shoot for fear of not being able to retrieve the birds, but at the last second they turned and came right over the blind from behind.

Trying to get turned to shoot behind us was difficult on me.  My foot slipped off a floorboard in the blind and I fell.  Mike doubled and I managed to get off a shot and killed one as they were going away.  Of all the things that could go wrong...  That was it for the day.

I was quite impressed with Capt Pete.  He really knew the feeding habits of the Brant, and their flight paths to and from their feeding grounds.  For such a late hunt, after two straight months of gunning pressure, I think he did a great job of getting us some shooting.  I certainly hope to gun with him again during a more favorable part of the season.

Yes, for anyone who was wondering, the Island Creamery is still going strong.

1stLt Tully

A short life, but a merry one.

The first time I ever saw Tully was a couple days after my wife and son had picked him up from the breeder.  I had been in Argentina when he was due to be brought home.  He had an eyelid pretty much torn off and a toenail torn out by the roots.  Apparently he didn't care for being alone in a kennel.  He never spent a night in my kennel after that.  What a burden to the family that was, a big, rough, outdoor dog living in the house.  A nuisance at times, but it led to an even closer attachment to him than my other dogs.  At times, I felt Tully was not completely sane.  Making the same mistake over and over again, and somehow expecting a different outcome?  But, other times, he seemed to be telepathically connected to me.  Anticipating my every move.  Every second of his life he was ready to do whatever I did.  With me step for step for almost 9 years.  Slept either on my bed or the floor beside my bed.  Laid on the floor outside my bathroom when I was in there.  With me every step.  When I went to work it was a terrible separation period for him.  Heaven forbid that I would go off for a week long deer hunt, or guided duck hunt where he couldn't go along.  It was amazing, and not always in a good way.  Sometimes everybody needs a little space.  Tully didn't though.  He wanted, no, needed my company.  Big and strong and fearless, but yet he needed me to be close by for reassurance.

As far as his retrieving skills, he was top notch.  Very fast in the water.  Tremendous marking ability.  Maybe a bit antsy in the blind, waiting for the next shot, but very good at what he did.  First dog I have ever had that never lost a duck.  How many hunters can say they went 9 years without losing a single crippled duck? Only those of us lucky enough to have been in the blind with Tully.

He lived all his life at a high rate of speed.  Always excited, always ready for anything and everything.  I feared that he would burn out and die young, just due to the way he sped through life.  Injuries accumulated over the years.  So he limped throughout the off season, but never missed a hunting day.  Suddenly, in October of last year he became ill.  Numerous trips to the Vet revealed that he had a periodontal  disease referred to as CUPS.  A very serious, life threatening disease.  The doctors did the best they could.  He lived through the hunting season.  But during a surgical procedure to remove some more infected teeth, the Vet found that the disease had spread into the bone.  He came home to be with me for a little while longer, and actually seemed to be doing pretty well, despite the pain.  Suddenly, a couple nights ago he became violently ill and that was the end.

No way, no how, could I begin to explain the current void in my life.  Maybe I needed him more than he needed me.  He was smart enough to realize it, so he devoted his life to keeping me company. Now he's gone, and I am alone for the first time in nearly 9 years that he looked over me.  I truly don't know what to do.  Tully boy, I'll never get over you.

Too Cold

We went to Maine in January 2015 for a seaduck hunt.  Unfortunately they had record cold temperatures and gale force winds while we were there.  Ruined the hunt.  The guide wasn't very well prepared for the extremely cold, windy conditions, but blamed the lack of shooting on it being too cold for ducks to fly.  That is a new one on me.

We got out to hunt for about three hours for two days.  One day on a very small island and the other day on a rock ledge.  Of course the 11 foot range of tide there makes the ledges completely submerged on high tide and there is some risk involved when the temperature is -12 and the wind chill is -44.  We toughed it out and tried to get some shooting but it just didn't happen.  We killed 9 Eiders total in the two mornings we hunted.  Pretty sad.

Very expensive trip.  Since I plan on retiring this year, that is probably the last guided hunt I'll ever be able to take.  Makes it even more disappointing.

Whatever.  We all did our best and toughed it out in colder temperatures than most people will ever hunt in.  But, seeing how tough we were was not the reason for the trip.  I already knew I was tough.

Return to Chincoteague Island

Kelly Murphy and I planned on returning to Chincoteague Island for a rematch with the Brant.  Didn't happen.  Kelly tore up her knee at work, the evening before our leave started.  So I had to regroup. Luckily, Mike was able to get off work and go with me.  We went with a new guide this time, Andy Linton.  His pitch was pretty good, sounded knowledgeable enough, and eager enough, to take us on a good hunt.  He did OK.  His blinds were good, his decoy spread was OK, his blind locations were OK.  BUT, the naked truth about duck hunting was enough to overpower whatever might have been right.  You need weather!

Some times you can go out in the middle of the day, on a bluebird day and still shoot a limit of ducks.  But the nasty weather will win out.  Whether it is wind, snow, rain, or whatever else you can have to make you miserable, it usually makes for a better duck day.

Mike and I had one total bluebird day, with 5 mph wind.  One day of morning fog then sunny and hardly any wind.  The other day, was miserable.  Rained steady, all day long.  Breezy and cold and a real bitch to be out in.  Guess which day was our best?

Not that we had a world of shooting by any means, but we each killed some Canada Geese, we each killed some Brant (as you can see in the flick, Mike's was weighted down with bands :-) and Mike was able to kill a couple species that he had never gotten before.  Actually they were his last two he needed to fill his list of all the normal puddleducks and divers in North America.  So all in all, he had a big trip.  I enjoyed myself as well, even though I was disappointed to see the Brant numbers were down.  We've heard since then that the Brant season will probably be closed for a few years until they can get a couple good nesting years and get the population stabilized again.

For anyone who was worried about it - The Island Creamery is still going strong :-)

Whistling Ducks

My second trip down to Argentina, we shot in a completely different part of the country than we did the first year.  That suited me just fine.  I wanted to see all of Argentina that I could.  I also wanted to shoot as many possible species of ducks as I could.  I knew very little about the migration paths of the birds down there.  I still don't know everything, but I have studied it quite a bit now, and you can definitely see where some species are migrating through in greater numbers than in other areas.

Anyhow, the first morning I shot by myself on a very small pothole.  Didn't see many ducks, due to being right in the middle of a stand of very tall reeds.  The only ducks I saw were either straight overhead, or sailing into my decoys.  I had a great shoot, killed my very first Rosy Billed Pochard.  Actually killed a nice pair of them.  Shot Teal and Pintails and had a really great shoot.  When I left, and met up with the other hunters, I saw that one of the guys had killed a beautiful White Cheeked Whistling Duck.  He had no idea what he had killed, just another duck to him.  I was a little jealous, but, what the heck.  He had killed 8 birds and I had killed 50.

The next morning we hunted on a private gunning club.  Somehow Jorge had membership to the place, or at least permission to use it.  We hunted in pairs that morning and when the hunt was over and we got back to the truck, I saw that the other pair of hunters had killed a Fulvous Whistling Duck.  Again I was a little jealous, but once again I had killed far more birds than the other guys and I had killed a Coscoroba Swan as well, so I couldn't be too disappointed.

The following morning we boated out to blinds well offshore on a big lake.  For a while it looked like a bust. Very few ducks were flying, but we could hear some shooting in the distance.  That was the only time I ever knew of any other hunters within miles of our party.  There were hundreds of Black Necked Swans on the lake, and eventually one ventured close enough for me to drop him.  Drop him I did!  Right in the boat we had tied to the back of the blind.

As the morning went on some ducks began moving around and our shooting picked up.  Jorge had promised me that we would see a lot of whistling ducks on this lake.  I didn't understand why - there certainly weren't any trees near the lake.  But he was right.  I saw several White Cheeked Whistling Ducks and finally got a few of them moving near us and I killed a half dozen or so.  They are truly beautiful.  I'd give anything to have one mounted.

Well, we were watching opposite directions, and without any warning Dave started shooting.  I looked up and saw a small flock of Fulvous Whistiling Ducks passing high on his end of the blind.  He killed one on his last shot.  I was crushed.  Travel halfway around the world and missed out on the opportunity.  Whatever, I was stacking up the birds, so I wasn't going home too disappointed.  About then, Jorge motioned to me that a duck was coming over real high and he wanted me to try the shot.  I led the bird about 10 yards and folded it up.  It fell probably 75 yards in behind the blind.  I wanted to go look for it immediately, didn't want it lost in the reeds, but Jorge said we would get it on the way out.

Finished up our shoot, gathered the decoys and headed in.  Sure enough, in a patch of open water back behind our blind we found that high duck I had killed.  My first Fulvous Whistling Duck.  I was good to go after that.

I have since killed a bunch of both the Whistling Duck species, but will always remember my first one of each.

A Nice Break

Living here in North Carolina, we have long, hot Summers.  Most years, Summer lasts well into October or even November.  That is tough.  Growing up in the Midwest, we were having cool weather in early September and Fall was in full swing by October.  So, waiting on Fall to arrive in coastal Carolina can be an ordeal.

Anyhow, a few years back I just happened to have a day off that coincided with the opening day of our little three day early season.  I thought, what the heck, even though the weather was still in the low 90's, I'd run up the Pamlico Point and give it a try.  On the drive up there, the night before, I noticed the wind was freshening and the temperature seemed to fall a little more than the previous evenings.  By the time I got to the trailer in Lowland, it was real nice out.  Cooling off nicely and a stiff breeze.  Humidity seemed to be way down,  even the mosquitoes had vanished for the evening.  At least it made it feel sort of like duck hunting weather.  I had no idea what the forecast was, but you know "hope springs eternal" with duck hunters, so I was quite content when I went to bed.

Morning came early and I immediately stepped outside to see what the weather was like.  It was still real windy.  Hadn't cooled off much more, but the air was fresh and I was pretty excited by the weather change.  Even if there were no ducks, at least it looked like a good morning to be out.

I went to Spring Creek and picked out a spot in the marsh to take advantage of the strong NNE wind.  I don't think there were any other hunters in the marsh that morning.  Probably the hot weather we'd been having had discouraged anyone else from hunting.  So I settled in to wait on daylight and see if any birds were down.  A good half hour before shooting time the Teal started pouring into my decoys.  Blue Wing and Green Wing both.  I was really excited about my prospects for the morning.

I love to eat Green Wing Teal.  Don't care that much about Blue Wings.  So just before shooting time, when it was still too dark to tell them apart, I let the dog exercise a little and flushed the birds from my decoys.  Thought I'd wait until the light was a little better, so I could try to bag a few GW's.  About actual sunrise the marsh really came alive with Teal.  Some shooting in the distance stirred up a lot of ducks.  In 15 minutes I had my limit of Teal; all Green Wings.

Picked up my decoys and headed back to the trailer.  I was really happy with the morning's shoot and felt lucky to have caught such a nice break on the weather.  When I got back I saw a friend just pulling into his driveway.  I hollered at him, told him to come over and help me pick some ducks.  He drove over and dropped the tailgate on his truck to show me three Canada Geese he had bagged that morning.  Said he had been hunting the entire early goose season with no luck.  But, the nice, cool, windy morning had paid off for him too.

Of all the bad luck that you can have while hunting, that day the luck had been all in my favor.

Stolen Hunt

Years ago I read a book entitled "Last Casts and Stolen Hunts".  It was an OK book.

Didn't really think on the title too much until a few years later when I stole a hunt.  Kelly Murphy and I were on a 10 day hunt up in Lowland on the Pamlico Sound.  On certain days of the week we were allowed to hunt in the state Gameland Impoundments for puddleducks.  The rest of the time we hunted out on the open water.

One day in particular we were heading out to shoot Scoters, right at the mouth of the Pamlico River, where it opens up into the Sound.  If you aren't familiar with that area, the River runs Southeast into the Sound.  The last several miles of the River are a really straight line, NW-SE.  So when the wind comes up Northwest, combine that with the natural flow of the current in the River and it gets pretty nasty, pretty quick.

So anyhow, that day the forecast was for SW winds 8-10 knots, turning W mid-morning then eventually NW in early afternoon, and building to 20-25.  I knew before we headed out that the Scoter would move between 0730 and 1030, so we would safely be off the water before that wind turned and came up strong.  No problem.

Well, the wind was almost West by the time we got on the water, but NOAA still didn't call for the big change until early afternoon.  So I thought we'd be OK, but I knew to keep an eye on the weather.  The Scoters cooperated pretty well.  We had a fine shoot that lasted about 2 hours until we had our limit.  We were just starting to bag up our guns and close up the gunning boxes when I noticed the decoys turning a little farther to the NW.  I told Kelly we should get our rig in and get out of there as quickly as we could because the weather was changing a little sooner than the weatherman had called for.

By the time we gathered up our 25 decoys we had waves breaking over the bow of my Herter's Model Yukon.  We headed for Oyster Creek, keeping the boat quartering into the 3-4 foot waves.  Only took 10 minutes to make the lee of Cedar Island and then we were in a lot calmer water for the rest of the ride into the landing.

By the time we got to the landing, probably 40 minutes from when we fired our last shot, the wind was up to 30 knots and building.  I was very happy to be standing beside the boat ramp and not out there fighting that mess.

We shot well that morning and Cain worked well so we had made good time on our hunt.  We've picked up enough decoys to be fast and efficient at that as well.  Good thing.  The way the weather changed, even 5 minutes later and we could have been in a real mess.

The title of that book came back to me then, and I told Kelly we had just stolen a hunt.