My entire life revolves around ducks. I set up my military career to be stationed in all 4 flyways which provided me a chance at shooting exotics not on the west coast. Blacks, mottleds, etc.
I served an extremely long time solely for the retirement check. Once the calculator said if you retire now and not need to work again, I did. Aged 49. The sole purpose was having every single day of duck season off. Then, I had to find a place to live that has the longest season, generous bag limits, public land, and most importantly, ducks! Found it. My wife hates it. I don't care, she knew what she signed up for.
It's always awesome when you fool them and get them feet down. That's not why I hunt them. I actually prefer a 45 yard pass shot. More satisfying for myself.
The things that trips my trigger are knowing the second you own the birds. Staring at them coming in, calling out where in the flock the drakes are, knowing exactly which bird you are going to shoot 2nd or on the rare occasion I have a semi, 3rd.
I guess it's the anticipation.
The other big thing is dogs. Not picking up dead birds in the spread, but working a cripple. A big greenhead hauling ass on big water with the dog barely keeping pace out 2-300 yards.
Then you watch that greenhead dive. I stand up and smile and say "that duck just fucked up"
Watching brown dog get to where bird dove. Start spinning circles, re-acquire when it surfaces, bird dives again, then brown dog disappears for 3-4 seconds and always emerges with a duck clamped in mouth by its ass.
That's what it's about.
Bookmarks