Good stuff JAB. That brought back a lot of memories. My dad taught me everything he knew about hunting, fishing and woodsman-ship. He carried me from the time I was only allowed to carry a BB gun. He wasn't a big duck hunter but he worshiped at the altar of Mr. Bobwhite. I grew up following some fine pointers, setters, rip-raps and drops.
Dad would occasionally find some ducks using a swamp or bottom flooded by an overflown creek while squirrel hunting. When that happened he would take me with him the next available morning before daylight and we would shoot them coming in to the acorns. Those were mostly summer duck shoots.
But I still remember squirrel hunting one bright afternoon when my dad gave me the "be quiet" hand signal and pointed out some bright green heads shining in the sun about 50 yards away in a creek. He whispered that if I wanted to try and put the sneak on them to go ahead. He sat back and watched as I belly crawled from tree to tree across that damp bottom trying to get in range of the dabbling mallards.
Just as I was barely within range of my 12 gauge Ithaca M37 the mallards jumped. I jumped up at the same time.
I can still see, like a photo in my mind, the sun glittering off of the bright iridescent head of the last bird up as it was trying to gain altitude. I can also see the feathers explode out and see his neck go limp as the pattern of #6 lead high brass engulfed him.
I literally ran out into the water that was knee deep to pick up that bird. Once I felt the heft of the heaviest bird I had ever killed in my life I knew I was hooked. You've never seen a happier, prouder 12 year old boy.
I lost all interest in squirrel hunting that day, all I wanted to do was sit and admire the duck. I remember my dad saying I did good and that he was surprised at how quickly I came from the ground, shouldered the gun and dropped the bird before it got out of range. My chest swelled as I told him bird hunting with him must have paid off.
The next day I rode my bike to Western Auto and bought an old black hard rubber Olt D2 call that was in a dust covered box for 75˘. I have never looked back.
Last edited by Mergie Master; 08-13-2013 at 09:38 PM.
The Elites don't fear the tall nails, government possesses both the will and the means to crush those folks. What the Elites do fear (or should fear) are the quiet men and women, with low profiles, hard hearts, long memories, and detailed target folders for action as they choose.
"I here repeat, & would willingly proclaim, my unmitigated hatred to Yankee rule—to all political, social and business connections with Yankees, & to the perfidious, malignant, & vile Yankee race."
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