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.

Disappointment

Duck hunting has turned into something I never wanted. I look forward to duck season, but then, when it arrives it is too full of disappointment. Bad weather days that prevent you from hunting. Crowds. Poor sportsmanship. Lack of birds. Low limits. Totally wrong weather forecasts that convince you not to hunt. Why even bother?

It is just about to the point when this 50 year veteran of waterfowling is going to quit. Just too much disappointment to outweigh the enjoyment.

Nacoma's Chief

Way back in the 1960's, when I was a young teenager, a friend of my Father gave me a Lab puppy for helping him train his dog. I read a book on how to train a retriever (appropriately titled - Training Your Retriever, by James Lamb Free). That did help me learn the basic steps of dog training. I think Chief should have read the book himself, he was a little smarter than me and could probably have made better use of the book. But anyhow, we made it through the first summer and were ready for duck season.

He was even more ready than I realized. From the first bird he ever saw fall, until the very end of his 13 year hunting career, he was all I could ask for. Big and strong. Loyal, playful, smart. We were best of buddies. We both suffered when I went into the service, but he welcomed me home for each hunting season with a big smile and a wagging tail.

He was a fast swimmer, both on top of the water and under the water. I saw him dive on more cripples than any other dog I've hunted over. Once he got after a bird, he NEVER quit.

Every time I see a big rangy Black Lab, I think of Chief. I'll miss him always.

Barnegat Bay

In December 2011, I made a trip to the famous Barnegat Bay. It was worth it. I met up with Dave Schneider, who I had met in Maine a few years before, gunning Eider. We hunted with Ray Bukowski and Brian LaFay of Reedy Creek Outfitters.

The trip was all arranged 10 months in advance and all went well, except the weather. It had been a very warm winter up to that point and unfortunately that continued during our trip. Sunny, warm and no wind. Really had it going our way! But we managed to make the best of it. The first day we shot Sea Ducks from a layout boat. Uncomfortable for an old crippled guy like me, but all in all a very exciting shoot. Been a few years since I had shot any Oldsquaw. Dave had his chance for a triple-play on Scoter, but missed his shot on the Black Scoter. He had never shot any White-Wing or Surf before, so it was still a great shoot for him.

The next two days we went into the marshes and small bays down near Tuckerton/Brigantine. Really neat terrain. Seemingly endless bays and channels all surrounded by grassy flats (referred to as salt meadows by the locals). Brant and Black Ducks were everywhere. Due to the terrible hunting weather, not a whole lot moved but we pretty much made the best of it. The last day we had 3 beautiful passes on Brant; 30 yards out, wings cupped and feet dangling.

Dave took 3-4 birds home for mounting, the rest are in my freezer.

The guides were really knowledgeable duckmen. The had great decoy spreads, mostly consisting of E. Allen decoys. Those decoys ought to be good since they run $90 apiece. The guides said it was worth the money not only due to the success they had shooting over them, but the decoys were very durable and they were still using a lot of the decoys they had when they first started guiding. They also had great boat blinds. Home made affairs, and each a little different, but comfortable and effective. Their knowledge of the area, combined with daily scouting put us in a decent spot each day.

I've heard about Barnegat Bay since I first read about duck shooting, and I am very happy to have gotten up there. To hunt a place with such a wonderful gunning heritage was really great.

The End of an Era

In January of 1979 I first ventured to Pamlico Point. McGee, Trevor and I hunted the Goose Creek Impoundment. Killed Pintails and Blacks. Doesn't get any better than that. So we started going up there on a regular basis. After a few trips to the impoundment we heard enough shooting out on the sound to get us interested in trying it out. Turned into my primary shooting location for many years.

About 10 years ago, Kelly Murphy and I pooled our money and bought Whitfield's trailer on Horne Road. We worked like crazy to fix up the 56 year old mobile home and get the yard shaped up. Didn't have a lot of money to work with, but we made it into a nice duck camp.

Then the birds started getting scarce. Then Kelly fell on some hard times and couldn't get up there to hunt very much. As I got older I didn't feel like making the trip and going to all the trouble just to hunt by myself. Slowly but surely I quit hunting up there completely. Never totally ruled it out in my mind, but something always seemed to keep me away.

This Summer we sold the place. It was a hard decision. Absolutely some of the best times of my life were up there at Lowland. But it all fizzled away to nothing. Just a place to have to fight the bugs and cut the grass. Am I sorry I sold it? In a way yes. It will always hold a million good memories in the back of my mind. But, I feel it was a good time to move on. I can kill ducks anywhere. So without all the old friends that made 825 Horne Road so special it just wasn't ever going to be the same again.

Maybe in time I'll regret the decision. But for right now, I think I am OK with it.

27 August, 2011 - Hurricane Irene devastates Goose Creek Island. Virtually every home is destroyed. An eight foot storm surge covered the island. The eye wall of the hurricane was over Lowland for 2 1/2 hours. Terrible, just terrible.

Aerial Photos

About a thousand years ago, when I was stationed at HQMC, I got some really good maps of the Pamlico Point area.

I was hanging out over in the Pentagon one day, either in the Command Center or the WWMCCS
Center and saw a really awesome map. It was comprised of about 50 satellite photos, all overlapping each other. The detail was fantastic.

I mentioned that I'd like to get a set of photos like that of the mouth of the Pamlico River. One of the guys that worked there sat down at a computer terminal and asked for some details on the location. I told him just west of BT-9. He looked on a broad overview map and found the area I was talking about and I pointed out just exactly where I was interested in. (My duck hunting area.) He told me he'd see what he could come up with.

A couple days later he called me over in my office at the Navy Annex and told me he had some pictures. He said I could come over and see if they were the right area. I went over that afternoon and he had about 25 photos, probably 24"by 36" that all overlapped each other and covered the exact area I wanted. I thanked him and he asked me what type of an exercise was going on down there, or was it classified and I couldn't tell him.

I told him there was no Marine Corps interest in the area, that it was where I hunted and that I had never seen a good map of the area, until now. Well, he went ballistic! Hollering and ranting and raving like a mad man. I asked what was wrong and he asked me right back "Do you know how much it costs to move a satellite and take a camera run like that?" I told him no, but that I really appreciated it.

Brannen's Seahorse

They say you can't teach an old dog new tricks. I personally never taught a young dog any new tricks either. I've taught them a little obedience. I've taught them to behave socially. I've taught them a few basics in order for "us" to be a little more successful in our hunting ventures. But most of the teaching came from wise men, many years ago, who didn't actually train dogs, but instead they bred dogs that had the desired knowledge born in them. Men who had far more patience than I do. Men who weren't greedy. They worked toward a goal that they knew might not be achieved in their lifetime. But they were men of necessity. They were men who knew they needed help retrieving their ducks. When these wise men lived, duck hunting was a job. Well, I'm sure some guys hunted for sport, but they didn't have the NEED for a duck dog, like the market gunners did. The market hunters needed a dog that was multi-talented. A dog that was at home in the water; being able and willing to take on the cold, rough, dangerous swims that went along with the job. They needed a dog to take care of things around the hunting lodge - a guard dog. They needed a companion to help keep them sane on the long, cold, days and nights of the Winter gunning season. These traits were developed fairly well, and many a duck hunter has reaped the benefits of the dogs developed more than a century ago. But the true gunners needed another trait in their dogs. Gunning for the market was a rough job. Face it, alone on the water in the the winter, with much of the work being done at night, is no job for the weak at heart. The gunners had a lot to think about: survival, prices of the birds they shot and sold, keeping their powder and/or shells dry, keeping their guns in working order, keeping their boats seaworthy. Since they almost always worked alone, there were a lot of things they had to tend to by themselves. These men knew they needed a duck dog that could be depended upon to share the responsibilities of their work. A dog that needed no special attention, no handling, no directions, no help getting the job done. They needed the Chesapeake Bay Retriever. A dog that could mark multiple downed birds and stay in the ice water long enough to retrieve them. A dog that would swim out into the dark, in crashing waves, time after time , searching for more fallen birds. A dog that would quit only when all the birds were gathered up. Sometimes that came after the hunter had long since left the water and headed for the fire. Then the dog guarded the gunner while he slept, and guarded the gunner's meager belongings while he was gone to town to sell his birds. A dog that could live on corn meal and cracklins, with a few fish heads and coot gizzards to add some flavor. A dog that needed only a pat on the head at the end of the day to signal that he had done everything asked of him. Those market gunners developed the one true duck dog. Brannen's Seahorse was such a dog, and I was able to spend 12 years with him. Pretty lucky for me. I was much younger, and not even as smart as I am now (hard to believe) and for a while I didn't know what I had. I was crushed at my inability to "train" Hoss as I wanted to. I could not accomplish even the simplest steps of dog training, but he was always there beside me, loved being with me. Since he was all I had, of course I took him hunting as soon as his first duck season rolled around. I was all set with my dog trainer's whistle, ready to give him all sort of commands, just like the field trialers do. He ignored me completely. He just hunted along side of me. He retrieved over 2300 ducks and surprisingly, he didn't need my help on any of them. The only thing he asked was to be allowed to go along, he handled the rest. Hoss and I rode many a mile in my old CJ5, and across many miles of water in my Herter's Model Yukon. I can still see him braced against the wind, staring out into the distance. I can still see him curled up beside my bed in the trailer at Lowland. Hell, those were the only nights of his life he ever got to sleep inside, and I sure hope he enjoyed it as much as I did. Big Hoss, I still miss you.