The Pope of Pope County The Main Event

Having scouted the area and located an area that we KNEW held turkeys we were ready. Since we were obviously going to be successful the hunting party grew to around 5. We camped in little backpacking tents, not because it was far from the car, maybe a mile or so but because it was FUN.

I wish I had the pics, they are in some computer drive somewhere but google yielded this image which is remarkable accurate. Our little enclave of tents arrived very late at night and we pitched our tents in the dark. We happily got to bed when the storm let loose. It literally rained all night. I was dry in my tent and in the morning stuck my head out of the tent to get the coffee started and I see that one of our campers put his tent in a low spot, it looked something like this.

He was soaked and soon our campsite looked like this. 

Well the few dry ones got out and stomped around looking for turkeys but the end result was nada. We return to camp to find our campmates trying to dry their gear. Being April after a rainstorm it was pretty humid and once the turkeys stop gobbling (they gobble when they wake up, kind of a mating call to tell the females "come and get it". Must be nice to be a male turkey, except that all the hunters are looking for you that is.

So sitting around camp drinking coffee around a smoking fire we while away the day.

This not us but it does look remarkably similar. What happens when you have a lot of frustrated hunters, with loaded guns with nothing to do. You shoot things. Cans of food, fruit anything  was game. 

So let me take a side trip to give you some background. We were duck hunting at the blind in Pistake lake. As we didn't really have a plan and didn't really know how to call and decoy ducks we resorted to the practice of pass shooting. This is the bane of real duck hunters as they sit quietly calling the ducks and luring them into range and then some hoon blasts away at them while they are way out of range. Pass shooters are the reason the duck population is increasing. 

We are engineers without wives or girlfriends to reduce our disposable income, however beer and chasing said potential girlfriends is expensive too, so I'm not swimming in cash. I decide to solve this issue with a bigger gun. The normal gun for hunting ducks is a 12gauge shotgun, it used to be a 2 3/4 in shell, but with the law change outlawing lead shot they added a 3in option to allow for steel shot to be effective, later they even added a 3 1/2 in option. So I sauntered into Gander Mountain, now this is long before the sporting goods wars, Gander was a catalog outfit with 1 retail store in nowhere Wisconsin. Cabelas was just a catalog and Bass had maybe one store in Springfield Mo. Later the all gobbled each other with Bass wining the war. Anyway, I sauntered up to the counter and asked "whats the biggest shotgun you have" He showed me a sweet pump that ran maybe $500. Again not swimming in cash I ask, how about the biggest gun that is the cheapest. He showed me the New England Pardner shown below. It was $69

This thing shoots shells that look like roman candles. I mean look at that hole. It was a single shot but you normally didn't get too many shots doing pass by shooting anyway. I took it duck hunting and it definitely shot farther. So getting ready for turkey hunting we went to my imaginary friend Phils farm and set up some targets to pattern the gun. Thats something good turkey hunters are supposed to do so we read, so there we go.

I set up a piece of paper maybe 4 ft by 4 ft at 40 yards. Take aim and BOOM. Now I'm a very large guy who shoots alot but wow this thing kicked. I got to look at the target and i see this huge hole in the middle of the pattern, its the wad. Now for those who dont know the wad is the holder for all the pellets, it normally falls maybe 20yards away having done its job of holding the shot while it goes down the barrel, this was so powerful the wad went 40yards and made a big hole in the paper. Impressed I do it again and one more time, by the time I'm done with the third shot I flinch so bad that i dont even hit the paper. I shoot 50 rounds of 30-06 at a sitting with no flinch and after the 3rd shot I'm done. You see, turkey loads are maximum power and maximum weight of LEAD, unlike that steel duck shot which is light. So as all engineers know Force = Mass times acceleration, increase the mass of the shot and you will increase the recoil. So I thought to myself perhaps my unwitting fellow hunters need a lesson in Physics. Being men when someone tells you this gun kicks alot they want to try it. Its kind of like when you emit a very bad smell you want someone else to smell it too, and you get wow, that smells bad.

We get to one particular hunter, at lease 1/2 my size, he always had the best of everything, even if it wasn't the best, he thought it was and would tell us so. He ponys up to the bar and fires off a shot, BOOM and he physically throws the gun to the ground with this horrible look on his face like he had been bitten by a snake. We laughed for hours at his reaction.

So back to Southern Illinois, we have some new people who have not experienced the joy of the 10gauge. And once again as predicted they want to shoot it, even with the warning and just like last time they only shoot it once. It truly is the gun that no one will borrow for turkey hunting, even Im not dumb enough to shoot it, but it stays in the gun cabinet just in case I meet a new victim.

Well we hunt and walk about for several days, no turkeys.

At night we experienced a new noise, there is a bird that is called a whip poor will. And it makes a noise just like that. Several of the nights had fearsome storms some with green skies with tornado sightings, do we seek cover. Nope we gape at the wondrous site and hide under nylon tents. But during one quite night we hear this sound, i have no idea what this bird looks like but its loud and it makes this noise about every 30 seconds. If you shout or make a loud noise they stop for awhile but resume after a few min. After about 1hr of this when Im about to get my shotgun and flashlight out I hear from the other tent.

Whip poor wills must die, I guess someone else was not enjoying the song too.

We made our daily treks to the dari -barr, yes its written that way, check it out

https://www.google.com/maps/place/Golconda+Dari-Barr/@37.3680191,-88.4887653,18z/data=!4m12!1m6!3m5!1s0x8870a1f9ffd301ff:0xaf85fdc0d1ee183!2sGolconda+Dari-Barr!8m2!3d37.3680279!4d-88.4887922!3m4!1s0x8870a1f9ffd301ff:0xaf85fdc0d1ee183!8m2!3d37.3680279!4d-88.4887922

So we discovered something fun, the woods are full of spring ticks and will a lot of talk about Lymes disease we need to be sure we dont let them do their damage. The problem is that its hard to see those places that you need to look in the woods. They get in your wastbands and socks basically anywhere they can use the clothing as something to help them dig in. Gross i know. You have to go looking for these things, inspiration comes. We go to the dari-barr, basically a dairy queen and go into the bathroom and strip, check all our skin the the bright lights in the bathroom and then once verifed free of ticks we redressed in our 5 days old hunting clothes and ate our ice cream.

So by now you are wondering what the pope in pope county is all about, well one fine day its raining out but Im up and hunting at dawn, Im obviously the stupid one in the group. I had taken to wearing a bandana. Its hot, I have less hair on top than I started with and its was a fashion thing. So yes, I looked like willie nelson, being a large man I cant tuck in the back of the bandana so it kind of just lays there.

So its windy out that day and I walk into the tent to wake tater and buffalo and the back of the bandanna had blown up and stayed up. I poke my head into the flap of the tent and I looked just like the hat the pope wears. And just there I became the pope of pope county

Rest assured, no turkeys were harmed in this adventure, just fruit and assorted canned goods.

The Pope of Pope county 2

With our maps in hand we diligently seek the elusive turkeys in southern Illinois. You would think that a location called the Shawnee National Forest would be a large expanse of forest with roads running through it. It is, but. The but is that apparently there is a lot of private land mixed in the woods and many substantial roads run through it. Where to go?

Well we decided to take a road trip, surely once we get onsite.

We load into the Philips company Red ford taurus

Why a red taurus, can I say COMPANY CAR WITH FREE GAS. Boy those were the days. Not the most hunting friendly vehicle but like i said FREE. So we drive the 6hrs and arrive near the town of Golconda IL. This is a nice nothing of a town but it becomes our base of operations for all phases of the turkey pursuit. We get down there and drive all around, no obvious forest, no welcome to the place where all the turkeys hide. After several dead ends we turn down a no name road that we are sure leads to the woods where we can hunt.

Its starts out gravel but soon turns to dirt. In addition it begins to get rougher and steeper, did I mention I miss the company car. We arrive at a field. Im not willing to go any further in that this is a CAR not a truck and getting stuck in the middle of no where with no cell phones, yes we actually had cell phones then. No web browsing, no google maps but my blackberry did get email.

We get out and look around. A short walk down the road yielded both tracks and poop. Now as hunters we are wise to the various game signs and as you are all wondering you can tell alot from poop.

See the white, that apparently is pee. They have some weird ways but we can tell from our expert observations that we are hot on the sent of a gobbler. You know the big bird with the feathers all puffed up. Anyway as we are walking someone, no me the slug as I am of course last actually catches sight of something that could be a bird.

Flushed with excitement we hike all around and agree that this is the spot we will hunt come spring.

Getting out is a bigger issue, the old taurus may go down the slippery hill fine but getting back up as sporty. However, by hammering the gas and getting a running start backwards for max traction with a front wheel drive car, nearly missing a huge tree we get back to the main road.

Boy, what we do for a chance to kill something

Next, the main event

The pope of Pope county (IL) The preparation

Turkeys
Once almost extinct have been making a comeback. The Government decided that if turkeys used to be in the Midwest, they they should be once again. So, they planted them in pairs and let them go. Unlike wolves who are a problem most people were pretty glad to have something else to hunt. I mean turkey, gravy, thanksgiving , yummm.
Let me tell you why this is really exciting. Most hunting is in the fall, duck, goose, deer, are all fall seasons. Starting in September and ending in December you have to cram it all in those short months. Then comes winter, ice fishing, really sit on a bucket on a frozen pond. Until I went up to Minnesota i. Really didn’t understand. They build houses and literal towns on the ice.Local liqueur stores deliver to these shacks, that’s when I understood. Its not about the fishing, its to get away from the wife and drink with your buddies. Sorry, I understand but not a sport.
Then spring, golf and fishing. Both very frustrating. I mean fishing would be good if I could CATCH them. On the Potomac I catch blue catfish. All about the same size and you can catch them on hotdogs. There are bass, ferocious snake heads and stripers but do i catch them, no. I have shadowed successful fisherman, I have spent hours at Gander Mountain (a moment of silence please) listening the nice man tell me how to catch fish. I have a tackle box of gear to show you how effective he is and then hunting season again. In reality my happy time is about 3 months a year. And then come turkeys.
You hunt them in the spring, yes you heard me, spring. That lonely time during golf and fishing a golden opportunity pops up to get out the gun and get into the woods. Happy yet, wait there is more. You need all new gear. Yes you can reuse some archery gear and your shotgun but really, come on, we NEED new gear.
The planning and research begin. My favorite part to be honest. I break out the hard bound cabelas catalog, what you don’t know what I’m talking about? You need to buy more. My first catalog came in the fall edition after i picked up a couple of guns and a tent and some boots, well you get the idea and it came. Yes if you buy enough they send you a hard bound catalogue. I found out they have a spring edition after a fish finder, sounder, some rods again you understand. Ill not say how many of these catalogues have arrived at my mailbox due to the possibility of my wife one day using this blog in court. Now that I have college age children the catalogues are back to paper, sad i know. Anyway, my hardbound edition has a whole turkey gear section. See unlike deer, turkeys see in colors so you need all new camo to match the ground cover, your gun needs camo, you face needs to be covered. You need a vest, a seat, a blind, and calls galore. Oh my the shopping. And you have to practice your calls, mouth calls, slate calls, box calls, oh my. Its like a Dr Seuss rhyme. So sitting I’m my living room dressed in my new gear, practicing my calling with Buffalo and Tater, the quiet one and the owner of the fattest cat i have ever seen. Yes they are new but they are always somewhere in or near these stories. I once spent an entire day fishing in a canoe with him and he never spoke. But when he does it’s hilarious. I love having him with us because i get to talk all the time. He moved to California  (gasp) and then Oregon (better) so I don’t see him much. The fat cat owner was a proud member of the MJBHDM and participated in many escapades. Anyway were are all happily trying to figure out where to try our new equipment. You see since they were introduced there weren’t too many yet so it was a lottery and you had to pick a week and the weather mattered etc. Complicated work. We wanted on stay in Illinois so we could use our resident license to keep costs down, stop laughing, I’m serious. Its like a Diet Coke float or a rum and Diet Coke, It doesn’t make sense but you see it all the time. We selected POPE COUNTY

The blind building a blind….

All great events come from a great idea, well executed.  And then there was our decision to hunt Pistakee Lake…… again.  After having our butts handed to us by Pistakee Bay (closest water access to our house) TWICE, we decided a wider map needed to be drawn, to “Terra Incognito”, or “the other side of Pistakee Lake”, or Myers Bay, as the locals call it.

We observed that in the fall, somewhat like the daisies of the spring, duck blinds sprouted all over the lakes nearby.  We made some calls, and found that the proper way to do this was to register for a chance to have a blind on the lake, and once selected, you went out on a boat with the DNR and numerous other hunters, equipped with a gallon jug with rope and weight attached, and your name- to select a spot for your very own duck blind.  We had our selection, noting the old rotten remains of a duck blind on the shore (we were certain it was last used around the time of Columbus…..)

 and decided that THIS would be the year of our success.

We then embarked on the PLAN (see Jim’s earlier blog about our ALL CAPS “PLANS”), making several drawings, and finally accumulating the necessary raw materials at Tators house (see “Goosses” story), and building sections small enough to be transferred north to Buffalo’s home, and then, by the BBB (Big Blue Boat), out to the duck blind spot selected.

What could go wrong?

We picked a nice early fall day to build our blind, and transported the boat and duck blind sections and poles to the closest boat launch.  It was earlier noted that the BBB belonged to my then fiancé (who will be referred to as Darling Fiance, or DF, to protect her reputation), but it was not mentioned that BBB hated men- or at least more specifically, me.  If DF was not nearby, BBB would resist starting, strongly.  It was especially unhappy when it would be threatened with drowning, which I did that day by forgetting to put the plug in.  at this point, lesser souls would have retreated back home and turned on a football game, but not us!  We emptied the boat, threw a few well placed curses into the air to scare BBB into starting, and loaded her (all boats are her, but this one particularly so) with fearless hunters and the pieces of our duck blind- and across the lake we went!

We locate our gallon jug marker, declare this spot hallowed duck hunting ground, and begin assembling the blind (a task worthy of a tale, but not here).  We finish it, and go to head home, with visions of ducks landing in our decoys in a few weeks.  All that was left was to come back shortly before the season started to camo the blind with lots of cat-tails and reeds.  Or so we thought.  BBB had other plans- she would not start, and the same well placed curses used at the boat launch did not avail us here.  My recollection is a but fuzzy, don’t remember if she had to be towed home, or finally started, or a combination, but we managed to get back.

So the week before opening day came, and as we were out decorating our blind, we were surprised by a boat load of very angry hunters, who questioned our not only our parentage but our IQ, because it turned out that the ancient rotted blind we built in front of was actually used every year…. (more on this later).  They claimed to have used this blind every year for decades, and were not to be displaced by a bunch of newcomers (who, as it turned out, were not as well armed on this decorating trip, and were threatened with a few well placed shots in our boats if we didn’t depart.  So, like gypsies, we were chased away, lifting the slightly anchored legs of our blind and moving it a couple hundred yards around the corner, to another blind that we were assured was also one of their older ones, and no problem for us to be near……. Uh huh.

OPENING DAY!!  Of course, we were there early, of course we were ready with decoys out well before the appointed hour that guns could be discharged!  The first of many hours of hot coffee and cold pop-tarts was spent in happy bliss, expecting hoards of ducks, eager for company, would find our decoys.  And then from across the bay, a boat approaches, and continues directly to us….. an angry hunter noticing that we put our blind directly in front of HIS!

I should back up.  After the threat and moving of our blind, we checked with the DNR, and got the name of the owner of that entire shoreline- a nice little old lady that knew nothing of anyone hunting on her property.  We kept her name and number handy for any further encounters we might have with unhappy shore hunters, such as we were just having.  We mentioned this to the angry gentleman we mentioned above, who assured us we did not need to call her, just a big misunderstanding.  He asked why we selected the location, we told him of our earlier gun-toting friends around the bend- he knew who they were, and suggested he would have a nice chat with them later that day….problem solved!

Except the ducks did not come- at least not any that we could hit with anything less than orbital launch capabilities.  Except for one nasty diving duck that taunted us for much of the day- never surfacing where we could actually hit him (if our code of honor would allow us to shoot a duck on the water….but we were tempted)

So, again, Hunters- 0, Pistakee Lake- 3, if you are keeping score.  By the end of that season, we further enjoyed:

·         Back Boat- a shifting issue with the previously mentioned john boat (still hazardously overloaded) forced us to back all the way across the lake, into the wind, to get home, creating ice crust that peeled off Tator’s back like a large frozen coat

·         Ticket Time!- more tickets- this time parking tickets at the boat launch, for sticking 6” into a resident’s driveway, where his winter stored boat was parked…..  Tator and Slug

·         Sunken John Boat Time!- we parked the boat at my Bro-in-Law’s channel near our hunting spot (cutting our 5 mph commute by nearly 75%), and heavy rains sunk it a couple times…..

·         Hammer Time!- Buffalo decided to use a 20 lb sledgehammer to drive in wooden stakes to hold the john boat in place at the BIL’s channel- only it slipped, and drive a 2” sliver into his finger, tearing it open from 1^st to 3^rd knuckle, and almost causing Tator to pass out as he drove the Buffalo to the ER for 12 stitches….

Sooooo, end of Duck Blind, Season 1, Pistakee Lake (and ducks)- 6, Hunters- 0

There has got to be a better way……..  or not, as we find out later.

The Mighty Mississippi

Slug and Buffalo take on the  Mighty Mississippi

Well our quest to hunt ducks was not going as well as hoped locally we decided to take the show on the road.
I (Slug) had a friend in Texas (more of an acquaintance) that would tell me stories of going home to his grandmothers house in Iowa and shooting ducks on the Mississippi. Stories of skies black with ducks. Limiting out every day.
Discounting for distance it still sounded like there were more ducks than we had seen where we had been hunting.
So being burned in the chain of lakes in Illinois I asked the following questions:
How do you get a blind, no blinds he says you just decorate your boat and hunt where ever you want. What I say, no blind registration, no one threatening to shoot holes in your boat, or burn down your blind. Nope he says just dont sit on top of anyone, plenty of water to go around. Well that sounds like heaven.

Where do I go, he names a spot south of Lacrosse Wisconsin on the Iowa side, he says hey you can even follow me to my hunting area and hunt near us.
Enough said, Im in. I call my partner in crime, the buffalo. Hey do you want to go hunt the Mississippi river, skies full of ducks, a local guide everything. He was in.

Now the big blue boat was not going to cut it, i had a 14ft Jon boat with a 6hp Johnson given to me by a friend.  About the size of this boat, but MUCH, MUCH older.




Up to now I have not mentioned the size and shape of the hunting party slug, buffalo and tater. Both slug and buffalo are engineers, that should give you a hint about our athletic prowess. Slug is well past 6 foot and over 300lb, buffalo is a smaller version. Tater is also well past 6 foot but not being an engineer he is quite thin. So we are talking about more than 500lbs in a tiny boat. I found I could get it on a plane if i was the only one inside and if i moved up to the middle seat and if i leaned just right i could get it up on a plane. Obviously, with 2 guys, decoys and equipment we moved quite slowly. But move we did and we could get anywhere given enough time.

So we put a plan all together, we designed a blind of wood and conduit and tarps, we decide that we will drive all night and sleep in the truck at the ramp. Yes I said truck, i had purchased a new chevy s10 4X4. I was black with very aggressive tires. Sadly, i went to work for a new company and they provided me with a car. It was a Ford Taurus so that wasn't really my first choice for a hunting vehicle but it was FREE and it came with FREE GAS and with FREE TIRES and FREE MAINTENANCE. Did i mention it was FREE. Well i had put quite a bit down on the Truck so at least I wasn't upside down. My brother agreed to take over the payments so this was to be the first/last duck hunting trip with my new truck.

So fall winds are blowing and its opening day of duck season. Buffalo and I pack up the truck, hook up the boat and set off for Wisconsin / Iowa. Its a bit of a hike and we had already worked a full day so we were pretty sleepy when we arrived at a lonely boat ramp in the middle of the night. We unloaded the boat and put all our gear inside and tied it to the bushes next to the ramp, we were ready. It was probably 2AM so in 3 short hours our friend and guide would show up and guide us to duck heaven.
Obviously, sleep eluded us. Two big guys in a little S10 meant no laying down, or even reclining but we subsisted on coffee and pop tarts.  Around 330AM we saw our first boat, was it our friend, nope. We watched them launch, big boat, go devil motor, decoys and a well built blind. We were in awe, they seemed to really know what they were doing. Well they launched into the darkness their motor droning steadily until they were gone.
One by one a steady parade of hunters launched their boats, checking our watches we were getting a bit nervous. He told us that it was a fair boat ride to the prime hunting area so we knew at our slow speed we needed to leave at least 2hr before hunting hours. Still no guide. Finally, we look at each other and agree he is probably not coming, he is over 1 hr late and still not there. The wheels have started to come off our plan, where will we go, we dont know where the SPOT is just that its north. So we launch, our tiny boat on the mighty Mississippi river. We chug across but all we have to see where we are going is a mag light flashlight, its pretty dark but we can make out the shores and trees in the darkness. About 15min in the motor starts to give us fits. It sputters and then runs and sputters again, our white light on the boat (the one to tell other boats that we are here) flickers and dies. We are near a path between trees and the engine starts to dig into the bottom. It dies.

So Im standing in the boat trying to get the engine started, restore the safety light and push off the bottom into deeper water. We hear a noise, kind of like a locomotive with a water noise. Being dark we have no idea, maybe it's a train nearby or some kind of boat.  Suddenly the night turns to day. A huge spotlight illuminates everything, it's in the middle of the river about 500 feet away and its sweeping the corners of the river. It's a huge barge. Now if you dont know what a river barge is let me help you


This thing is huge, i mean a football field running down the river. The train noise was the water being displaced by the front of the barge. We see it now being illuminated by the spotlight, a huge thing on top of the drive boat in the back. There are no lights on the barge portion and they only use the spotlight to check the corners in turns, otherwise its a huge floating structure chugging down the water in the complete darkness. We look at each other and realize that they could have run us over and never even known that we were there. Wow, it's a life evaluation moment.

Well having dodged death and having restored the lights and motor we agree that we are lost, no boats are coming our way but we can see them from time to time running about a 1/4 mile away, lets follow we say and we point our boat in the correct direction. We find a channel in between the islands in the river, yes islands. It turns out that huge portions of the river, primarily around bends have large areas of wetlands with trees, cattails and small rivers running through it. We are now on one of those rivers, the water nice and deep, the engine running well, the lights working we see a boat overtaking us. After a bit of rough waves as it passes we see it before us. Perfect, someone to follow. We quickly realized that these are real boats and are waaay faster than us, but there is a steady stream of them all going the same way so we figure we are on the right track.
About 1 hr of this goes by and we get to a bend in the path, we see some navigation lights on some boat blinds so we figure we are in the right spot. We start looking for somewhere to park and set up.

We see a large slack water area so we pull into it, the motor is chugging up some very stinky bottom mud but no one is hunting it (that should have been our first hint) so we anchor and set up. We get the assortment of conduit, 2X4 and tarps in place to conceal ourselves. We throw out the decoys and get ready. We settle down to await dawn and from the front of the boat I hear a faint whisper, "Hey I gotta go". I say just point it over the boat and he says not that kind. uh oh, i say can you just hang it over the side and go, now its completely dark but i can hear grunting and moving about and he works at it for awhile and says, i cant seem to get in the right position and the need is getting urgent. In frustration he checks the depth of the water and we see we are in maybe 6 inches of water, he says I'm going to put on my waders and walk over to the trees we can see about 20 years away.
Well he gets set and steps out of the boat, and sinks to his knees in really really smelly goop. I now understand why no one is hunting this area, its a swamp.
I hear cursing and splashing from the front of the boat area and then finally it goes quiet. He made it or is dead, either way i have to wait till light before i can do anything about it.

I sit their quiet, enjoying the stink of the churned up bottom with gun in hand peering out of the blind waiting for light. I hear noises again and Buffalo is making his return, so not dead at least. he gets to the front of the boat and is in much better spirits. He holds onto the sides and tries to get it, he is way too sunk into the gunk to get a leg over the side, he struggles for awhile to no avail. I'm a bit concerned at the way the boat keeps moving each time he tries, again this is not a big boat. Nothing.
Being engineers we ponder the problem, and engineer a solution. We decide to use the boat as a lever to pry him from his entrenched position in the mud. I walk to the front and get the nose of the boat almost to the water line, Buffalo heaves his torso onto the bow and i move the the back of the boat. Guess what it worked, we literally jacked him out of the mud. The smell is a bit overwhelming and now its in the boat rather than around it. But he is safe and in the boat. The struggle over we now sit there in the darkness quietly waiting for dawn and a sky full of ducks.

After about 30min we hear the tell tail sounds of duck wing beats, we are here in duck heaven, loaded guns ready to hunt. Just drop into those decoys boys and suddenly from right behind us boom, boom, boom. What the hell is that, its like they are right behind us. More boom, boom and we dont see any ducks, no cupping into the decoys, no waiting until you can see their eyes, just boom boom boom so we pull the blind open and start looking to the sky. We see a duck winging about 60 yards away and then more bang bang bang, we look at each other and there is no way this guy is going to hit a duck that high, he is just sky blasting, and he is ruining any chance of our decoys bring in some ducks.

We rip the blind off the mounts and push it off the boat and stand up to get a better view, maybe we can get lucky. In desperation we also take a few pot shots at some high flyers, but to no avail.
Now light we can see where we parked, we are in a 1 foot deep slack water area about 100 years across. The main channel is right behind us, this is where the hunters who know where they are going are positioned. Buffalo says he is going to jump in and look around, already being covered in muck there is nothing to lose. He stomps around out of sight for about 30 min and returns to the boat. We are in the wrong spot,

What do we do? Just sit, move, what? We are without sleep for 24hrs, living on coffee and pop tarts so not the best decision makers at the time. I say let's move, it stinks here and we are not going to get any shots in anyway. So we recover our now trashed blind and pick up our decoys and lever Buffalo back into the boat and head out. Now that its light we can see clearly, it really is a hunters paradise, miles of land anyone can hunt. No blind registration, plenty of ducks not that we can shoot any so we motor around for another 2 hrs looking for a place to hunt. We get out and walk some islands but they are covered with trees, ducks dont sit in trees like turkeys so this is not getting us closer to hunt able land. We see some of the real boats pulling up decoys and returning to the ramp for breakfast. These boats are awesome, they can even run over dry land if they get a running start. We are definitely two fools in a boat compared to these guys.

Exhausted, we decide to motor back to the ramp, the boat is filthy so we decide to take it to a carwash. Now I had taken my truck to the hitch guy so that I could pull my boat for hunting. He advised that we get a hitch but that was a lot of money for a truck that i was giving away right after the hunt so i ask can i just get a ball for my bumper. He shows me a piece of iron on the wall, its the hitch from a boat trailer. he says that is from a guy who asked the same question and when he had jackknifed his trailer because he used the bumper hitch be returned for both a frame hitch and a new boat trailer to replace the bent one on the wall. Undeterred i say thank you for the warning but Ill stay with just the ball.
The wheels are about to come completely off on this hunt
I pull into the car wash, you know the kind with the wand that you put quarters in. Normally you pull through these but as i pull in i realize that there is a wall at the back of the stall, the hose will definitely not reach the boat. Id better back in. So I put the truck into reverse and back up and then guess what, crunch.
Loud profanities spew from Slug, shit shit shit I get out of the boat. No i did not bend the trailer i put a nice dent into the side of the truck I'm about to give to my brother. Im livid, tired, pissed because i had been warned that exactly this would happen, mad that the guide didn't show up, mad that the hunter behind us was skyblasting, mad that my boat smelled like sewage pretty much just mad at myself and the world.
In frustration i slapped the troublesome light completely off the back of the boat into the weeds nearby.

I pull the boat carefully out of the spot and without a single word in a 5 hr drive (that is a miracle in itself as I never shut up) I drop off buffalo and drive home.

I arrive home, park the truck in front of the house and go inside, my wife, surprised to see me home early asks how was hunting?

Don't ask, and I went to bed.

So it doesn't end on a sour note, After a good nights sleep I pushed out most of the dent from the truck, got a hitch for the Ford Taurus company car, delivered the truck to my brother who said dont worry about the dent, talked to our "guide" who had overslept, got out late and only killed 2 ducks that day who gave me pointers on where to go next time.
We went on many subsequent hunting trips to the Mississippi river area, abandoned the blind / decoy idea and hunted pass by shooting and killed many ducks. There are many other stories but none so memorable as the first time we hunted the Mississippi river.

Virginia Duck Hunting?

You see that in Virginia there is legendary duck hunting, by that I mean how the heck do you hunt ducks in Virginia.
So waterfowl live near ....water. There is this beautiful river called the Potomac, by the way no chance old george threw anything across it, forget driver, sand wedge i'm not sure i would get across with a 30-06. Anyway its literally full of ducks, there is this duck they call a canvas back.


 I had never seen on of these in Illinois, either they don't fly there or by the time they do I'm out deer hunting. Anyway these ducks are big, meaty and tasty. They are truly the best bang for the buck.

Now I have a friend, lets call him Achmed. This is not his real name but is used to protect his identity much like slug, buffalo and tater. Anyway he's a normal looking guy, perhaps even good looking but I'm a guy so how would I know. He does share his snacks in the blind so he's ok in my book, although he has a sweet browning that I have yet to shoot.  Anyway he can grow this massive beard. He literally looks like a terrorist or maybe Castro but by the time hunting season ends a family of squirrels could live in it and you couldn't tell.
Im talking about something like this


Anyway Achmed, is a Virginia local and is plugged into the hunting scene. He seems to know everyone. He gets me into a friends blind. Believe it or not is can get really cold here. Not like Wisconsin but still nasty, so we go out one morning in his friends boat. Sweet boat, nice and big and we are breaking ice in the channel. We go downriver about 30min drive and come on a very sweet blind. Much better than a pimple on the butt of pistake lake we used to hunt out of in Illinois. I mean this thing has heaters and seats. His boat has a remote trolling motor and he is using it to lay out his decoys. These Virginia hunters do it right.

We get set in the blind, protected from the cold and with this awesome heater and I'm thinking that this is WAAAAY better than our Illinois hunting, boy would buffalo and tater be jealous. We sit for a long time, we get a few shots at some passers but nothing really.

Then Achmed shows me something kinda white looking across the river, I  use his binos and its thousands of canvasbacks. I'm not kidding, perhaps more. They are about that 30-06 distance away I was referring to earlier. (and don't think that didn't cross my mind) So I ask the obvious question
Why aren't we shooting those ducks, there is plenty of shoreline, I don't see a single hunter over there and enough duck to satisfy my wildest fantasies.

Achmed tells me how he wants to get scuba equipment and swim under them and grab one. You see it turns out that the Potomac river is MARYLAND water, the whole thing, not down the middle like any normal river but all the way to the Virginia shore.
Absolutely, no reciprocity.
Virginia hunters are confined to the shoreline and to the rivers that feed the Potomac. That is why I'm sitting in the nicest blind watching 1000 ducks just sitting on the water. Every once in awhile they get up and fly around but nothing comes close. I think these ducks can read a map.

So no go but I have a plan, Lets get a Maryland out of state hunting license and a boat blind and go kill those ducks. The other side is basically rural and forest, no hunting competition there. So I get home and look up the rules. Guess what, you can get that license, and a boat blind but

YOU HAVE TO HAVE A MARYLAND RESIDENT IN THE BOAT AT ALL TIMES.

Now I'm on the hunt for a friend from Maryland

Goosees

While I was living at the MJB Home for Wayward Men (MJBHWM), I did some goose hunting. The MJBHWM was taters house. While all the rest of us we perfectly happy to just pay rent, Tater bought a house and rented out rooms to his friends. He also worked 2 jobs. Im sure he was a millionaire before he was 30. This house full of men without girlfriends and many of them technical professionals was much like Big Bang Theory with guns. We enjoyed all the things that single men, having escaped from relationships with women, enjoyed. Hunting, fishing, and video games. 

Across from MJBHWM was an empty cornfield. This was in the neighborhood that was transitioning from farmland to suburbs. There were no homes on this land but there were a lot of geese. Resident geese in the Chicagoland suburbs live on golf courses and feed in the surrounding cornfields. They move from field to field as they are harvested. We would drive to work and watch swarms of geese descend like locus on the fields surrounding MJBHWM. There we no signs on the fields telling us we couldn’t hunt there and there were no homes to go to in order to ask for permission so we figured it must be ok. But also knowing that the neighbors may have a problem with our hunting adventures we needed to be covert.

Now these geese had some sixth sense that told them that I had a gun. While golfing I literally had to shoo them away so I could hit a ball. There is even a rumor that while hitting my tee shot my ball may have collided with a goose. This goose may have been overcome with the magnificence of my golfing and died of a heart attack. Said goose was present in the greens keeper's golf cart when he drove up on my foursome. Since there were no witnesses to testify and the goose was dead I asked if I could have it. No go.

But when present in a corn field even me crossing the busy road between our house and the field they began to move away from me. Crossing this road was a special delight. Dressed in camo we would hide our shotguns under our coat and scamper across the road. The morning commuters were a bit alarmed by camo covered men wielding shotguns crossing before them but the cops never showed so I guess we were all right. Anyway, once in the field the geese would move maddeningly away from us, just out of shotgun range. After trying to sneak up on them Slug (me) gave up. However, one day I came home to the MJBHWM and saw a pair of bloody goose wings hanging from the garage light fixture, and a floor full of feathers put there by none other than Mr Tater himself. Now among single men of this tribe this was a challenge of the highest sort. Kinda like chugging a pitcher of beer and slamming it down on the table and daring anyone to top his feat, the Tater had thrown down the gauntlet. We renewed our efforts to bag our own goose in response to his challenge. I reasoned that if I could not sneak up on them, perhaps I could ambush them. I found a nice thick stand of trees along the field and waited for them to come in. Now sitting in a tree strip on a bucket with cars passing by not 100ft, what is the legal distance again?, say maybe 300 feet for safety and with nothing to do I decided to light up a cigar. Now cigar smoking is one of those manly rituals that we adopted because it seemed manly. It was normally confined to poker games, golf and fishing. I figured that since they were flying in they wouldn’t be put off by the smell and decided to combine cigars and goose hunting. This would be mistake 1. Now I see several geese coming into range about 1 hr later. By then I have a long ash on my cigar, one that would make Arnold S proud and I raise my Remington 870 with 3 in magnum goose loads to my shoulder. I take aim, setting the proper lead for a goose not 20 years away and pull the trigger. Bang, suddenly I can’t see a thing and my eyes are leaking. Am I blind? I know people who have eye problems from shooting large caliber weapons over time. No thats not it, the muzzle blast blew the nice 2in long ash from my cigar directly into my eyes. Wiping my eyes I peer into the field and to my surprise I see a big Canada honker flopping about 50 yards out. Now its commonly known that with one shot is very hard to locate the shooter, two shots give you a good idea where it came from and 3 shots pretty much nails it down. Not wanting to take any chance of someone showing up with flashing lights on his car I don’t take a second shot, this would be mistake 2. I proceed out to the freshly plowed field. For you city slickers a plowed field has chunks of dirt about the size of bowling balls all unevenly stacked. In the spring the farmer will come through with a disc and make these small for planting but for now think of an open field with slippery clods of dirt. I slip and slide my way to the goose. It appears that I have broken a wing but he is not dying anytime soon. Being raised a city slicker myself my field knowledge comes from tales from my father and my imaginary friend Phil. Per my fathers tales of pheasant hunting,  I grab the goose by the neck and attempt to brain it against my muddy boots, no luck. Next the stock of my trusty shotgun, again no joy. Meanwhile this goose is attempting to beat me to death with its wings, I can only imagine the wonder of people driving by and me wrestling my pet goose. I then reach for my knife (mistake 3), seeing that I had been going to this field every day in a vain attempt to kill a goose and answer Mr Tater’s challenge, I steadily had been reducing what I took with me into the field, first extra ammo, then goose decoys and calls, along the way my knife bit the dust. Now I’m in a field holding onto this gooses neck, he is flapping furiously and I’m trying to figure out how to kill him quietly. Thinking how like a hose this neck is I try the bending in half trick I use to stop water flow. In this case airflow. Well short answer, I succeed in getting it bent in half but still the beating continued. Very desperate I put one foot on the goose and stand on it. I use the butt of my gun in an attempt to kill it but remember this is a plowed field. I end up putting one boot under the goose and one on it and using the gun against my foot I succeed. By now it was dark but rest assured there was another pair of wings on the light that night. Lesson learned was never leave home without a knife, unless you are going to the airport.