This week, I took a break from the whitetail world. Honestly, I barely thought about it. My goal this year was to go out and try other types of hunting that either I had not done before, or that I had not done much. This week I decided to take on one of those goals with my good friend Tim. He brought me out to a spot to see how the waterfowl were flying. The more interesting twist to this story is that my son wanted to join us.
My son, Ben, has never been much into hunting. To be honest, he's not much into the outdoors at all. He likes joining us on hikes occasionally and the random moments where he gets interested in gardening and chickens. For the most part, however, he enjoys spending his time indoors with his tech. When he came to me the night before the hunt and stated his interest, I was determined to do everything in my power to make it happen.
Ben's interest in hunting gave me a momentary break from my own internal anxiety. You see, I haven't fired a shotgun since I was young, almost three decades ago. All I remember was coming home with a severely sore shoulder, so I had the worry of looking like a fool in front of Tim, a seasoned hunter, and Ben, my son. To add to my anxiety, Tim had mentioned he was loaning me a pump action 12 gauge that "kicked like a mule".
Saturday morning came with unseasonably warm temperatures and a very overcast sky. Unfortunately, the forecast called for bright sunny skies starting at mid morning and running through the end of the day. As humans, it might sound weird to call that unfortunate, but to those of us who hunt, trap, and fish, we know that blue skies are usually indicative of little to no action. Most of us that aren't able to make sporting a career also know that if we have the time off, we're going to make use of it anyway.
Tim picked us up and we were off to the trail head. We pulled into the parking area and it was time to load up. Once we had our packs, guns, decoys, and the retrieval rod ready to go, we set off down the trail. The path was fairly clear so we made good time. After about one hundred yards, we veered off the trail and into the marsh. We paused here and there to show Ben different animal signs as we happened across them. We also kept glancing towards the sky to see what was flying.
En route to the spot, we saw a few black ducks in flight, and a full on flight of Virginia Rails that kept tempting us but not getting quite close enough for a shot. Strangely, we did not see geese anywhere in the marsh. This area, as with most areas in Eastern Massachusetts that have good goose habitat, is usually filled with resident populations of Canadian Geese. This trip, however, we did not see a one.
A few moments later, and we were at the base of a small hillock and a tiny ridge that was shaded by a number of mature cedars and some smaller willows. Tim motioned for us to be quiet and explained we were going to stalk through the brush. On the other side of the ridge was a small pond that usually held some geese and ducks. We dropped all of the gear with the exception of the guns and loaded some shells. Slowly and quietly we crept through the brush.
A minute later we reached an area with a decent view of the pond, and found seven black ducks meandering about in the water. We made a plan to scare up the ducks and see what we could get. My anxiety suddenly kicked back in, which ended up becoming the bane of my first opportunity. We kicked the ducks up and I was not in position yet. They flew overhead and Tim raised his gun and fire three shots. I saw a single feather drift down.
"Why didn't you shoot?" asked Tim. Honestly? It wasn't my anxiety that caused me pause, however, it did cause me to be slowed enough that I did not get into position. I had a great shooting zone with a completely clean view of the targets. So why didn't I shoot? Well, there was another object in that line of fire that was not a target... Tim's head. He chuckled when I explained myself.
By the time we cleared up all confusion, my ears had stopped ringing from the first volley. We began to set up a little better and Tim let out a couple calls. Another flight of three black ducks surprised us coming from behind and Tim yelled "DUCK!" I raised my gun, took aim, and adrenaline took over. All anxiety melted as I pulled my target, lined up my sights, and swung into the lead aim. I placed my finger over the trigger and squeezed as the gun was still swinging.
BANG! The gun fired and pellets flew through the air. The gun shifted backwards from the force which in turn pushed my shoulder back as I completed the follow through still swinging. I pulled the slide back kicking out the empty shell and then pushed it forward loading the new shell into the chamber. The ducks were now to far away, and my one shot had sailed through the air well in front of my prey as I realized the ducks were flying much lower than I thought.
We gave a few more calls, and saw nothing further. After a short time, we set up the decoys and began the work of settling in. The rest of the hunt was spent calling, teaching Ben to call, and watching a bird here or there fly around. No birds came within range though. Around mid day we packed everything up and hauled out.
We hadn't expected much as the temps were still very warm and there wasn't much movement in the skies. Even without that, it was a great trip, as I've come to realize all hunting trips are. Success is not measured in the number of animals killed, but instead on the way you spend the time you have on the trip.
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