NEVER
COUNT
IT OUT
I’ve seen a
lot of things
that can move
ducks here in
West-Central Missouri--big cold fronts, snow, rain
and high winds, just to name a few. But, it doesn’t
take a huge temperature drop or five inches of snow
to get ducks moving. Sometimes it’s small changes,
like twenty-five mile an hour wind gusts that make
birds zig-zag east and west.
It seems like during every waterfowl season,
there are times when the ducks just aren’t moving;
a lull in the action. Maybe the weather isn’t
unpleasant enough to put the migration in full
swing, or hunting pressure has cleared the area.
But, whatever the situation, you should never count
out a hunt. Each one can create a memory even if
the harvest isn’t that great.
I remember a time when I had “counted it
out,” at least the duck hunting part. The ducks
just weren’t here. It was mid-season and, besides
scraping out a few spoonies and a teal or two, it was
a real lull. There were a few resident geese around,
so I lined up a day to take my Dad, my son, Jake,
and my brother, TJ, to hunt in a nearby cornfield.
I only had two layout blinds, so TJ was
“just gonna make
myself one,” he said.
30
by Jeff Faulkenberry
The memories started with the preparation.
Well before daylight, I woke up Jake, who was six
years old at the time. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed
he hopped up, layered on the clothes, grabbed his
BB gun, and we were on our way. We picked up
Dad, who was waiting with thermos and shotgun
in hand, and continued on down the road. When
we got to TJ’s house, we saw his new creation beside
the driveway. It looked like a cross between a
soapbox car and a coffin big enough for Sasquatch.
Being a practical engineer, my brother had added
wheels for ease of mobility and had lined it with
an old sleeping bag. Chuckling the whole time, we
loaded it up and headed out.
By the time daylight was breaking, I had set out
a spread of two dozen full body Canada decoys and
just as many shells. I had scouted the field before
and knew that about 9:30 a.m. we were likely to see
some goose traffic.
As we lay there anticipating the midmorning
goose flight, I heard someone say “ducks” and we
quickly tucked back in our blinds. I started calling.
A group of eight mallards made a couple spins and
the final descent. Dad yelled, “Get ‘em!” A round of
shotgun blasts followed and four mallards fell to the
ground.
Jake, who had been sharing my blind, scrambled