Intersecting the Trajectory.

      After months of sporadic writing, I just finished a story about saving Bristol Bay.  With that behind me, the River at 34,000 cfs, and Philomath's Mary's River experiencing the greatest flood on record, we did what any steelhead fisherman in possession of a shotgun would do...went duck hunting.

      These winter days, I must admit, I'm enjoying sleeping in.  Our young pup, Kada, in complete agreeance, cuddling up to one another unaware of the time and unconcerned with agendas.  She stretches out along my side, snores into my neck, and we blissfully doze the early morning hours away.  When my alarm chimed at 4:30 this morning, I thought there must be some mistake.  Kada half opened one eye then rested her head back on the pillow, she clearly wasn't interested in stirring this early.

      As the coffee brewed, I dressed in warm clothes and forced the pup out of bed.  The clock struck five, the Crumpster, Kada, and I walked out the front door carrying shotguns, waders, and decoys into the pitch black morning and blinding rain.

     Pulling our hats down and hood up, we cautiously walked through the farmer's field, slipping through the mud and splashing water from the accumulating puddles.  Greeting our buddy whose excitement buzzed electric as he began spilling stories of ducks flying overhead already, woke us from our early morning daze.   After setting out a couple dozen decoys, we huddled in the blind squinting through the rain to watch the farm gulley rapidly turn into a large lake.

     Having spent most of my limited waterfowl career believing ducks and geese were like winter steelhead, I basically expect nothing.  The well known formula is simple: put in your time, accumulate knowledge, and eventually timing places the creatures within your orbit.

    Shortly into the early morning, with rain pouring off our hats, my heart began racing as massive flocks of ducks and geese sailed over our heads.  It was like sitting on a runway, except we weren't hunting 747s.   The first players turned at one of our calls, circled over head, cupped their wings, then drifted in amongst our spread.  We jumped up emptying our guns within seconds. 

    As the clock struck five this evening, we left in the downpouring rain walking back through the muddy field carrying three limits of mallards and widgeons combined, two geese, and a young dog who had made her first retrieves.  Seems like we're on the right track.

Panoramic view of our blind and spread.

Looking through the blind at our spread.