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Dec. 18, 2002
Charlie Farmer, Springfield News-Leader Outdoors columnist
December duck hunt has the feel of spring
Getting a chance to camp out makes hunt a success and worthwhile for threesome.
It warmed me like a gentle spring breeze carrying the scent of lilac. But this was December and we were out in the middle of the damp, black marsh. All thoughts were blooming positive. The idea was a good one.
Now there would be no long drive home after the Saturday hunt. No rush to sack 60 mallard decoys and try to make it back for dinner. And for that reason, among other pleasures, I could savor the morning adventure with a greater sense of awareness.
We would stake our duck-hunting claim on a piece of state property near the town of Osceola — a place we have hunted for years. In the inky blackness before dawn, satisfaction comes from watching my son paddle the 17-foot canoe in the stern, with me in the bow watching our Labrador retriever swimming in front of us. The dog knows the way to our special spot on the Osage River slough.
Behind us, our friend, Ray, paddles his canoe. The trunks of live and dead trees seem to jump out at us like ghosts and the challenge is to run the tight course without ramming into one of them.
Above us, the stars hang close and metallic. There are no city lights to dull their glitter. We have spared the flashlight and our eyes strain to read the darkness. The slurp of the paddles is mellow music.
Overflow water from the Osage river creates public wetlands filled with willows, marsh grass and bordered by oak, hickory, walnut, persimmon, dogwood and redbud trees. Fields and rolling hills are abundant. Deer, turkey, squirrel, rabbits and quail thrive in good habitat. A mix of share-cropped soybean and milo fields, brushy hedgerows, weed fields and hardwoods provide cover and food.
We finally make it to our spot. The canoes are shoved into the thick weeds behind us. The three of us set out the decoys. It was still dark when the decoys were bobbing in position. Each of us take a position on small camp stools. Ray and I pour hot coffee from our thermos bottles. Scott never did like coffee. He prefers hot chocolate.
A flock of 20 mallards or so land over the decoys. Mink the Lab, sees them first. The only problem is it’s not legal shooting time. We have to wait another half-hour. It is, however, a good omen.
First light comes. But there are no ducks in sight for the first two hours. We munch on homemade chocolate cookies. A cold, blue sky is typically good for duck. The lab is antsy. Then in a heart beat, Scott looks up and whispers for Ray and me to get ready. We issue the feed chuckle with our calls and the birds respond. They don’t hesitate to cup down over the decoys. That’s when I said, “Take ’em.”
Scott doubles on a drake mallard and a mallard hen. Ray makes a good shot on a mallard drake and I shoot twice before downing a drake mallard.
We hunt until noon. Ray downs a gadwall drake. Scott adds another mallard drake. I shoot my first pintail drake of the year.
The consensus of all was to head back to the truck and put up the tent, eat and take a nap. We would camp three days and enjoy outdoor living, something we had not done when hunting ducks. With plenty of food and drink, the duck camp could very well a tradition. Along with the food we brought, we would breast out the ducks and fix them for eating over a grill. Something we wanted to do for years.
We grilled hamburgers for lunch. And after that we headed to the tent for a nap. A very good nap that put us to sleep quickly. Snoring, yes! Around 3 p.m. I got up and sounded the alarm. We headed down to the slough to see if we could fill out our duck limit. As it turned out, the birds there were scarce. Scott did make a good shot on pintail drake.
Good food cooked outdoors is an effective remedy. Thoughts of aromatic, succulent steak dinner make it a fine day. Ray did a masterful job grilling the meat over a glowing bed of hickory coals. We also had corn on the cob and foil-wrapped sliced potatoes laced with onions and seasoning. The food was devoured quickly. A checkered tablecloth draped over the ice chest added a touch of elegance to the meal.
Shortly after 8, we shut down the gas lantern and slid into sleeping bags. There is no finer slumber than that produced by the hours and rigors of duck sport. The next morning we woke up to the aroma of hot coffee. Under lantern light I cooked fried eggs, bacon and toast.
We walked down to our blinds. It was starry, cold at 6 a.m. We guzzled hot coffee and hot chocolate.
At around 8 a.m., a burst of 30 or so mallards cupped into our spot. It was one of the best mornings we ever had. None of us will ever forget the sounds of wings.
As for duck camp, it had become a grand tradition for the three of us.
Charlie Farmer, Springfield News-Leader Outdoors columnist
December duck hunt has the feel of spring
Getting a chance to camp out makes hunt a success and worthwhile for threesome.
It warmed me like a gentle spring breeze carrying the scent of lilac. But this was December and we were out in the middle of the damp, black marsh. All thoughts were blooming positive. The idea was a good one.
Now there would be no long drive home after the Saturday hunt. No rush to sack 60 mallard decoys and try to make it back for dinner. And for that reason, among other pleasures, I could savor the morning adventure with a greater sense of awareness.
We would stake our duck-hunting claim on a piece of state property near the town of Osceola — a place we have hunted for years. In the inky blackness before dawn, satisfaction comes from watching my son paddle the 17-foot canoe in the stern, with me in the bow watching our Labrador retriever swimming in front of us. The dog knows the way to our special spot on the Osage River slough.
Behind us, our friend, Ray, paddles his canoe. The trunks of live and dead trees seem to jump out at us like ghosts and the challenge is to run the tight course without ramming into one of them.
Above us, the stars hang close and metallic. There are no city lights to dull their glitter. We have spared the flashlight and our eyes strain to read the darkness. The slurp of the paddles is mellow music.
Overflow water from the Osage river creates public wetlands filled with willows, marsh grass and bordered by oak, hickory, walnut, persimmon, dogwood and redbud trees. Fields and rolling hills are abundant. Deer, turkey, squirrel, rabbits and quail thrive in good habitat. A mix of share-cropped soybean and milo fields, brushy hedgerows, weed fields and hardwoods provide cover and food.
We finally make it to our spot. The canoes are shoved into the thick weeds behind us. The three of us set out the decoys. It was still dark when the decoys were bobbing in position. Each of us take a position on small camp stools. Ray and I pour hot coffee from our thermos bottles. Scott never did like coffee. He prefers hot chocolate.
A flock of 20 mallards or so land over the decoys. Mink the Lab, sees them first. The only problem is it’s not legal shooting time. We have to wait another half-hour. It is, however, a good omen.
First light comes. But there are no ducks in sight for the first two hours. We munch on homemade chocolate cookies. A cold, blue sky is typically good for duck. The lab is antsy. Then in a heart beat, Scott looks up and whispers for Ray and me to get ready. We issue the feed chuckle with our calls and the birds respond. They don’t hesitate to cup down over the decoys. That’s when I said, “Take ’em.”
Scott doubles on a drake mallard and a mallard hen. Ray makes a good shot on a mallard drake and I shoot twice before downing a drake mallard.
We hunt until noon. Ray downs a gadwall drake. Scott adds another mallard drake. I shoot my first pintail drake of the year.
The consensus of all was to head back to the truck and put up the tent, eat and take a nap. We would camp three days and enjoy outdoor living, something we had not done when hunting ducks. With plenty of food and drink, the duck camp could very well a tradition. Along with the food we brought, we would breast out the ducks and fix them for eating over a grill. Something we wanted to do for years.
We grilled hamburgers for lunch. And after that we headed to the tent for a nap. A very good nap that put us to sleep quickly. Snoring, yes! Around 3 p.m. I got up and sounded the alarm. We headed down to the slough to see if we could fill out our duck limit. As it turned out, the birds there were scarce. Scott did make a good shot on pintail drake.
Good food cooked outdoors is an effective remedy. Thoughts of aromatic, succulent steak dinner make it a fine day. Ray did a masterful job grilling the meat over a glowing bed of hickory coals. We also had corn on the cob and foil-wrapped sliced potatoes laced with onions and seasoning. The food was devoured quickly. A checkered tablecloth draped over the ice chest added a touch of elegance to the meal.
Shortly after 8, we shut down the gas lantern and slid into sleeping bags. There is no finer slumber than that produced by the hours and rigors of duck sport. The next morning we woke up to the aroma of hot coffee. Under lantern light I cooked fried eggs, bacon and toast.
We walked down to our blinds. It was starry, cold at 6 a.m. We guzzled hot coffee and hot chocolate.
At around 8 a.m., a burst of 30 or so mallards cupped into our spot. It was one of the best mornings we ever had. None of us will ever forget the sounds of wings.
As for duck camp, it had become a grand tradition for the three of us.
