It was clear this morning-you could see the stars forever. The wind had died down and the temperature was a cold but bearable 39 degrees. The levees were soaking wet from this weeks rains and it promised to be an early sunrise with a blue bird sky.
In the dead of winter, the marsh is completely brown and beat down. The water is gin clear and the nutrias are playing in the trenasse as we motor out to the blind. We throw out about a dozen decoys and then just push the boat in along the shore. We don't really try too hard to blind up because today isn't as much about shooting as it is to just sit and enjoy the marsh and say goodbye to another hunting season. I have been hunting these ponds with my friend for some 35 odd years and as I think back about how they have changed, I marvel at the fact that I still feel like a 20 year old. I can point out the little scrub oak that I have watched grow up the past 30 years, the old skeletons of blinds long ago built by young men now pushing 60, now discarded, with names like the federal blind, north point, the island, the concrete, Lucille, center blind and the corner. I remember building and naming each. I remember at the beginning either walking the marsh or using pirouges. Getting stuck on the levees, the old bridge long since blown away by some hurricane I remember in my younger years bringing beer out with us and standing around having a few cold ones as we dissected the morning hunt and cleaned our catch. Back then we had rafts of ducks and could easily kill our 10 bird limits and then some-which we did. Today due to changes the ducks aren't there in the numbers as in the past but there are still enough to get us out there. Two or three is plenty enough for a meal and besides who really wants to clean 10 birds anyway. We can always come back and get a few more the next day.
But the best part of this morning was two men pushing 60 sitting in a blind chatting the same as two 25 year old law students did years ago and realize that other than getting a little fatter and a little grayer and a little grumpier, nothing has really changed. We left around 7:30 this morning having fired 4 shots as a farewell to a high flying grey duck-grumbling about how now we have to now clean our guns. We picked up the decoys and both of us proclaimed the hunt a resounding success.
All in all a great hunting season and a great way to end it! I am the luckiest guy in the world.
In the dead of winter, the marsh is completely brown and beat down. The water is gin clear and the nutrias are playing in the trenasse as we motor out to the blind. We throw out about a dozen decoys and then just push the boat in along the shore. We don't really try too hard to blind up because today isn't as much about shooting as it is to just sit and enjoy the marsh and say goodbye to another hunting season. I have been hunting these ponds with my friend for some 35 odd years and as I think back about how they have changed, I marvel at the fact that I still feel like a 20 year old. I can point out the little scrub oak that I have watched grow up the past 30 years, the old skeletons of blinds long ago built by young men now pushing 60, now discarded, with names like the federal blind, north point, the island, the concrete, Lucille, center blind and the corner. I remember building and naming each. I remember at the beginning either walking the marsh or using pirouges. Getting stuck on the levees, the old bridge long since blown away by some hurricane I remember in my younger years bringing beer out with us and standing around having a few cold ones as we dissected the morning hunt and cleaned our catch. Back then we had rafts of ducks and could easily kill our 10 bird limits and then some-which we did. Today due to changes the ducks aren't there in the numbers as in the past but there are still enough to get us out there. Two or three is plenty enough for a meal and besides who really wants to clean 10 birds anyway. We can always come back and get a few more the next day.
But the best part of this morning was two men pushing 60 sitting in a blind chatting the same as two 25 year old law students did years ago and realize that other than getting a little fatter and a little grayer and a little grumpier, nothing has really changed. We left around 7:30 this morning having fired 4 shots as a farewell to a high flying grey duck-grumbling about how now we have to now clean our guns. We picked up the decoys and both of us proclaimed the hunt a resounding success.
All in all a great hunting season and a great way to end it! I am the luckiest guy in the world.
