by Ken Frey
(GSL) – The alarm went off at 3:45 a.m. My brain, however, hadn’t gotten the memo, and my eyes were still glued shut. Today would be our first time out for duck hunting season.
By 4:15, Danny and Alvin (not of Chipmunk fame) had arrived at my house. We quickly busied ourselves attaching the boat to Alvin’s truck, since mine was in the shop again with a failing water pump. I guess it beats buying a new truck.
In the darkness we loaded the boat. Danny was tossing things in, and the sound of gear clanging against the aluminum hull probably echoed between the houses like an unholy, broken bell, helping our neighbors wake up to share our excitement. Then Alvin stumbled over the decoy bags and started cursing like a sailor.
The dog seemed to be the only one excited. He knew exactly where we were going and was constantly underfoot. It’s a wonder someone didn’t step on him. Duck hunting for a dog is akin to Disney World for kids.
Once we were finally underway, we needed to make one more stop at the gas station. The boat needed fuel. There’s nothing like rushing around to do things that should have been done ahead of a trip, right?
At the boat ramp, we contributed to the entertainment of those who watch boat ramps for rip-roaring comedy. It only took Alvin four tries to back the boat into the water – and he was sober! He really is getting better with a trailer. And at least he didn’t sink the boat.
By the time we shoved off, the fog was so thick the bow vanished into it. That’s our story and we’re sticking to it. Danny swore he knew the way to the blind and was giving me directions. Initially we didn’t find the blind, but he did navigate us to a mudflat and we ran aground.
Nothing says “stealthy waterfowlers” like three grown men grunting and cussing in knee‑deep muck with a dog barking at us to hurry up.
We finally found the blind and quickly set the decoys. Our spread looked less like a flock of ducks and more like a yard sale in a windstorm. More than a few were upside down or on their sides. Another was tangled in the anchor line. Clearly we never got the memo on proper decoy arrangement considered essential for a successful hunt. Then there was one that floated off into the fog for the freedom and sane government in Indiana.
And wouldn’t you know it, the batteries in the Mojos (motorized decoys) were dead. I had forgotten to recharge them the night before. Great.
Once the decoys were better set, we pulled up to the blind and unloaded. We set up the kitchen in the back room and got started on breakfast. There’s nothing like a hot meal in the duck blind. Biscuits and gravy, egg sandwiches, and a good strong cup of Irish coffee. (Only one though.) It’s our tradition.
With breakfast finished and the cleanup done, it was time. 6:45 a.m., thirty minutes before sunrise, the start time for today. We loaded our guns and set them in the rack out front.
Anticipation built as we sat in the blind, waiting. The fog was lifting as the sun rose. At this point, the lake was calm as a mirror. It was a picturesque morning, just perfect.
After fifteen minutes we started whispering about wind direction and migration patterns as if we were seasoned biologists. The dog, unimpressed, dozed on my boots. Poor boy.
As the fog lifted a bit more, we saw dark clouds rolling in which quickly covered the bright orange disc that had just risen above the horizon. Another few minutes in and the wind picked up, creating a light chop on the lake. At least the decoys looked sort of alive instead of passed out drunk, rolling with the wind‑driven waves. Well, at least the ones that remained upright.
As the front came in we could feel the temperature drop. Then the mist started. It was a cold mist that clung to everything, including us and our guns.
Off in the distance we could hear them. Half a minute later a flock appeared, about a hundred feet above the treetops. They flew past on our right but started to circle back. Danny hit his duck call, producing a sound that could only be described as “a kazoo with bronchitis.” They flew back past us again on our left. We thought we lost them, but they turned again, dropping altitude as they came in.
Our hearts pounded as we clicked the safeties off. The first few started to cup, preparing to land when Danny gave the command “TAKE ’EM!” We rose in unison – or almost.
The ducks heard Danny too. They flared, breaking off to our right. Shots rang out. Alvin’s 10 gauge sounded like a howitzer going off next to me, no doubt beating him like a red-headed step-child with its recoil. It sounded like a war zone as we threw everything we had at the flock.
After the smoke cleared, we searched the lake for our prizes as the ducks vanished into the mist… entirely unharmed.
Our stunned silence was broken by Alvin muttering, “Well, at least we scared them.” Meanwhile our dog gave us a look that said, “I could’ve done better with a slingshot.”
By 10 a.m., we were soaked as the mist turned to a steady rain. Wet, cold, and out of regular coffee, we packed up, leaving the blind and lake exactly as we found it. Except for the one decoy still drifting toward Indiana.
Back at the dock we watched Alvin back the trailer up. This time, it only took him three tries to hit the ramp. But at least he didn’t sink the boat.
Heading home in the warmth of the truck, we declared the hunt a success. After all, success is measured in stories. At least that’s what we told ourselves.