It's a quarter til 5.00 . He finds the boat ramp empty. He smiles to himself because he knows he has beaten the others and will find his favorite spot vacant. He loads his Jon Boat with his gear, checks the drain plug and fuel connection, and backs his boat into the water. In the boats bow sets his usual gear. The aging fowling piece that once belonged to his father, his mixed bag of Mallard and diving duck Decoys, his shell bag, thermos, tool bag and his emergency kit which holds a few snack foods, flashlight, matches, knife, spare twine and a first aide kit. He ties off his boat and parks his truck and trailer. The motor gives a little trouble but, he finally get's it running. He swings around the point and into the River's channel. Cold spray stings his face as he turns into the north wind. He runs along in the dark, checking the bank from time to time with his spotlight. He sees the dead snag, the one that has been there for the last two seasons. It bobs up and down in the current, waiting to snare any unsuspecting boatman. He reaches his favorite spot, a flooded slough that opens into an open spot of water in a flooded grain field. He sets out his decoys and hides his boat with camouflage, then sits back, opens his thermos, and enjoys his first cup of hot coffee. He hunts alone now. His hunting companions have all quit, content to rest their old bones in bed on cold mornings ,then rest by the fire. It has been nearly 50 years since he graduated from High School and several of his friends are gone now. He thinks back to another time. One when he was much younger. When shotgun shells were 2 bucks a box, a dozen decoys cost less that 12 dollars, and nobody checked his ID to see if he was over 18 when he bought ammo at the local grocery store. A time when he carried his shotgun in the trunk of his car when he drove to High School so he could go hunting after school was out. A time when the delusional liberals hadn't brought about mass hysteria about guns and his basketball coach kept his old Model 12 duck gun in his locker in the school gym. He knows his time is running out and that he will pull the trigger for the last time one day, but, today he is just glad to be here one more time. The morning is slow as usual. The duck hunting he knew as a kid is gone now and the wildlife refuges have changed the flight pattern so few ducks pass this part of the River now. Still he manages to take a nice Wood Duck early, just after sun light and a Black Duck before he knows it over but still, the morning has been a good one. He watches an otter swim playfully in the slough and a Beaver passes along the bank. He thinks that when his time finally comes how fitting it would be for God to call him home while he was here. It would sure beat dying of old age in a Nursing Home! He takes up his decoys and heads home. His wife will be worried if he is late. He looks back as the opening to the slough disappears into the trees. Life is Good!
Sounds a little autobiographical, yes rottiman? Reminds me of duck hunting with my dad(who is still here), but the ducks, in larger numbers, left the Chesapeake a loooong time ago.... Good read, sir.
We used to be able to bring shotguns in to our ag class in high school with permission....I graduated in 1999....no too terribly long ago.
In the late 60's, guys used to bring their shotguns/ammo right into the school and leave them against the wall under their coat which hung from the hook. Never a problem-ever! Principal saw them and asked one of the kids as he walked past hi office..."Going hunting after school, Paul?" "Yup-as soon as the bell rings!" That day, there were three shotguns lined up underneath the coats. None of these kids were old enough to drive legally yet.
