In the evolution from growing out of my teens, I heard the haunted luring call of Larry, the spirit of manly outdoor men. He insisted that I get out of my slippers and bathrobe and seek pioneering adventure. I believe Larry was calling me because only my mom and my sister were also in the house and they had heard nothing, although my Cockapoo dog, Tinker, did raise an ear and look around the room.
With the greatest of luck, my adopted grandfather Swede lived in a little white house behind ours and he was a manly-man outdoorsman, so I claimed him as my mentor.
Swede had all the training tools for a nimrod.
I might add here that Nimrod was a relative of Noah, who had built the ark. He was a skilled hunter, but I guess if you are killing animals as they exited the boat, it wasn’t that big a deal. The more current meaning of nimrod today is idiot or jerk. The jury is still out on which nimrod I was.
Swede subscribed to Outdoor Life, where my story mentor Patrick McManus wrote satire stories. He also subscribed to Field and Stream. The two publications were stacked high in his overcrowded living room. Nightly, I would sit on a stool while he watched Gunsmoke and would read articles on deer and duck hunting, asking him his opinions and how he used to hunt.
The other thing that Swede had was all the accessories for duck hunting including bird calls, vests for loading shotgun shells, chest waders, wool coats, and guns . . . lots of guns.
For my graduation from his mentorship, or to keep me out of his house, Swede gave me an 1897 Winchester Pump 12-gauge shotgun and a Springfield 30-06 rifle. He also lent me a 10-gauge Marlin goose gun which was useful for hitting birds at high altitude, although the kick drove my boots into the mud like the sinking of fence posts.
The things I needed to begin my adventure as a duck hunter were some decoys, a license, and shotgun shells, all of which I found at the local Yeager’s sporting goods store.
Living in the county, there are hundreds of harvested acres of corn fields, many of which were flooded and were perfect for setting up a duck blind. We were, after all, in the migration flyway for ducks and Canadian geese. In my naivety, I didn’t see any reason why I should ask a farmer if I could hunt on his property. It therefore caught me by surprise one day, as I was hiding in a ditch, to hear a tractor come driving up. He pulled up next to me and hung his head out of the cab.
“Boy. What do you think you are doing shooting that shotgun on my property? Do you know that every time that gun of yours goes off, the cow I am trying to milk, kicks me?”
This is not something that Swede clued me in on. To ask permission.
Apologizing profusely, I gathered my decoys and slogged back to my car while he herded me out with his tractor.
I needed to find somewhere to hunt that was hunter friendly and this turned out to be at the Lake Terrell wildlife area just a short drive from my house and a stone’s throw from where I worked.
Lake Terrell is a manmade lake caused by the damming of Terrell Creek. It was at one time a cattle field with ditches and fences. Though it is not very deep, it is a great lake for fishing and the Game Department keeps it stocked with various varieties of fish for the anglers.
It was late October. The clouds were black, and it was raining hard when I arrived at the lake at dawn. The available parking on the east side of the lake was minimal and marshy. I pulled the Datsun F-10 sportsmanmobile into the potholed parking area, popped open the hatchback and brought out my burlap bag of decoys and the shotgun.
The temperature was just above freezing as I slid into my chest waders. Grabbing my thermos of coffee and the rest of the gear, I trudged through the brush to the lake.
Unique to this lake, either the Game Department or a hunting club had built permanent elevated duck blinds out on the water. If you were a hunter with a rowboat, that is what you would use to access the blinds. Not having a boat, I had to walk out to a blind hoping the water would not enter my waders.
Upon reaching an empty blind, I spread my decoys out on the water and climbed into the blind to spot for ducks. There was a nice bench to sit on and I poured a mug of steaming coffee to warm myself.
Not far from me, another hunter in a blind was taking shots at landing ducks. There would be a puff of feathers and the bird would fall from the sky. Being a novice duck hunter, I tried to remember the appropriate congratulatory comments to make to a fellow hunter on his shot.
“Whoop, whoop, you go buddy!”
There was no response. I made a mental note.
Around my neck I had three wooden calls which I had found at Swede’s house. I could hear other hunters calling circling flocks.
I put the first one to my lips and blew. It had a high-pitched squeal.
Blast! A dying rabbit predator call. I saw a coyote poke his head from the brush on the shore.
“Sorry!” I yelled.
Taking the second call, I spotted a circling flock in the air up above and gave the call a long blow.
The lake was filled with the sound of a bugling bull elk. The flocks scattered.
“Crimony! Ha, ha, I bet you didn’t see that one coming,” I shouted.
Around the lake I heard cursing and snide remarks. The third call was for ducks. I gave it a long blow but instead of it sounding like a feeding duck it sounded more like a duck that was being driven over by a truck.
Learn to speak duck, I wrote on my spiral notepad.
I then learned two very important things about hunting etiquette.
First, when another hunter has spent three minutes calling a duck from the sky, I should not shoot it if it flies over my blind on the approach to his decoys.
“Thanks a lot, you inconsiderate moron!” he shouted.
“Sorry. Won’t happen again. That one’s yours, okay?”
Second, always take into consideration where the bird shot is going to fall when it comes back out of the sky.
A mallard drake was on final approach to my decoys when I took a shot. The unfortunate arc of the steel shot rained down on the hunter in the blind next to me.
“That’s it. I’m done! Where in the world did you learn how to hunt?” he screamed.
“Yah, I know. Did you hear that shot too? I don’t even know where it came from. Sheesh, some people.”
I could hear him throwing his gear into his boat which had a fluorescent orange 7 sprayed on the bow. He rowed back to shore.
The morning was cold and wet. My fingers were getting stiff when I caught sight of a mallard on final approach to my decoys. I rose above the blind and shot. The duck dropped into the water. Then as I watched, he started swimming to the brush by the shore.
“Oh no you don’t. Come back here,” I yelled.
Climbing out of the blind and stepping into the cold lake in my waders, I chased after the duck. The water level was six inches below the top of my waders at the very moment I stepped into what used to be a ditch line around the field. Now the water was under my chin and filling the chest waders rapidly. Scrambling out of the ditch and now 100 percent full of icy water, I weighed twice my normal body weight. I trudged back to the blind to get my gear. Back at the car, the dilemma was how to drain 20 gallons of water from my waders and then how to remove them.
Swede got a good laugh at that one as I sat next to his electric heater.
My next time out was a week later. A northeaster had blown in and dumped two feet of snow. It had blown freezing winds for such a long time; Lake Terrell was frozen solid. I walked out on the ice to the blind. The flocks of ducks were circling but wouldn’t land on the frozen lake surface, so I walked back toward my car.
On the way, I passed through a previously mown five-acre field which was covered in snow and had trees around the perimeter. I wondered, would the ducks land in the field if they thought there was food?
Following the edge of the field and tree line, I picked a spot and kicked off the snow so the grass was visible. Then, setting the decoys on the grass, I backed into the tree line and started calling.
For the circling ducks, it was the only game in town. Ducks, fifty at a time, we’re making their approach to my decoys. I had both the 12- and 10-gauge shotguns loaded and I was the only hunter at Lake Terrell.
Boom! Boom! Boom! I emptied the 12 gauge.
KABOOM! KABOOM! KABOOM! I emptied the 10 gauge, each time feeling the pain on my right shoulder and flopping onto my back in the snow. I was caught up in the excitement and I reloaded the shotguns repeatedly.
It was not until I saw another man walking toward me that I snapped back to reality. He wore a game warden’s jacket.
“Can I see your hunting license, son?” he asked. I also need to see your Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife (WDFW) migratory bird permit and federal duck stamp.
I removed them from my wallet and handed them to the Warden.
“You know, the daily limit for ducks is seven. You have shot, well let me count . . . twelve. I’ll just be holding on to your paperwork as you follow me back to my office.”
It only cost me $250.00, and he didn’t even confiscate my guns or decoys. He did make it a point to tell me that I was not to come back to Lake Terrell for the rest of the year.
Finally, to add insult to injury, driving on the icy road back home, I saw a stranded hunter standing next to his car. He had left his lights on, and his battery was dead. He had a manual transmission.
“No problem,” I said. “I’ll give you a push with my car. When your car is rolling fast enough, pop the clutch and start the engine.”
I got behind him carefully lining our bumpers up and began to push. My tires had little traction on the ice-covered road but eventually we were rolling 20 mph. Then, he popped his clutch which locked up his back wheels. Because there was nothing solid for his tires to grab, he just slid and now I couldn’t stop sliding to back away from him.
With a final bump from my car, his car slid off the road and stopped 20 feet out in a frozen swamp.
“Sorry!” I yelled. “The Warden’s house is just around the corner. He can probably call you a wrecker.”
As I drove back home, I couldn’t help but think that I recognized the rowboat tied to the roof of his car. Florescent orange 7, florescent orange 7. Where have I seen that before?
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