Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Matt Winter
The Post and Courier
Mallards are a signature species in the world of waterfowl hunting. Duck hunters in South Carolina, however, are much more likely to encounter smaller birds such as wood ducks and teal.
Some of my friends just can’t figure out why I love duck hunting as much as I do. To be honest, I sometimes wonder myself.
A typical hunt begins at 3 a.m. After only three hours of sleep, you brew coffee and groggily start loading up your gear in the frigid pre-dawn.
Multiple layers of waterproof, camouflage clothing. Bulky camo waders. A huge mesh bag filled with about two dozen decoys, with lead weights and PVC cord destined to wind up in a tangled mess. A waterproof bag for all your electronics and safety gear. Another for your calls, waterfowl ID books and a box or two of shotgun shells.
And, of course, don’t forget your shotgun. Or the dog.
Then there’s the blind to contend with, in all its homemade glory. Over the years you’ve “constructed” blinds for the john boat out of anything that will stand still long enough. PVC pipes, scrap wood and other assorted materials form the frame. To this you’ve wired anything that remotely resembles marsh grass, including at times palmetto fronds and camo burlap. Lately you’ve wised up and turned to mats of synthetic marsh-grass material.
Year after year, it inevitably morphs into a surly monster that wants to come apart at the seams the morning of your hunt.
No matter. Into this rat’s nest of a john boat you pile your mountain of gear. You meet up with your buddy, slam some more coffee, and off you go.
With proud abandon, you trailer this modern art masterpiece down the highway toward the ACE Basin. Once the coffee kicks in, the stories and jokes start to liven up. You iron out where you’re going to hunt, you talk strategy. Even the dog — especially the dog — starts to get antsy.
After some interesting maneuvering at the pitch-black boat ramp, you dump your fully loaded john boat into the freezing water, wrestle with the stubborn motor for a few minutes and then finally get under way.
It can be a long, cold, white-knuckle ride through the dark to your best spot. Everybody wears a life jacket.
Once you arrive, you fumble around in the dark setting out decoys, idling the boat this way and that to lay out the “perfect” spread.
Satisfied with the effort, you retreat to the grass and push your boat against the vegetation. A few minor adjustments to the blind, and you’re ready to go.
You uncase the shotguns, heel the dog and pour a little coffee from the thermos. Things quiet down on board, and you wait. Wait for light and legal shooting time.
This is the moment that makes duck hunting worth all the rigmarole. You, your good friend and a great dog sit in the cold, listening to the growing chorus of waterfowl around you. Mallards, woodies, wigeons and teal, thousands of them near and far, all cackling, whistling and chattering while they wait for enough light to get up and fly.
By the time those first squadrons start to buzz you, usually a few minutes before legal shooting time, there’s not an ounce of tired left on the boat. Two hunters and a dog, all completely wired into the surroundings.
You just can’t imagine how impressive a flock of wood ducks sounds when it zips over you at 50 feet. You’d never believe it unless you were sitting there, absolutely quiet as the dawn builds over the marsh.
— Matt Winter, editor
Comments
Post a comment
(Requires free registration.)