From the Editor
It had become a rite of fall: the annual day-after-Thanksgiving duck hunt. Each year several friends and I, still groggy from the previous afternoon's bingeing, would drag ourselves out of bed before dawn; gulp down mugs of hot coffee; cram guns, dogs and gear into our vehicles; and drive a half-hour to the end of a dirt road on a no-name peninsula on the coast of Maine. There a canoe that had been strapped to a car roof would be off-loaded, and we would drag it, filled with hunting paraphernalia, through a hundred yards of spruce forest to the shore.
If we were lucky, it would be low tide, as that would give us more rocky beach to hide on, and rising water always meant more birds. It also would preclude us moving the decoys every 15 minutes as the water dropped.
I say "us," but it was always Terry's job to set the decoys. He was the most experienced fowler in our crew, and he knew how to play the wind and tide. He also was the most obsessive among us, never quite being satisfied with the spread-every 15 minutes wading out to move a block a foot or two to make things "just so."
The decoys themselves were a sorry lot: a half-dozen black duck floaters that we'd spray-painted to look like buffleheads. ("Bufflizing," Terry called it.) On the odd occasion we'd lose one to the incoming tide, we'd simply replace it with a painted Clorox bottle -which seemingly worked just as well.
The peninsula stuck into a bay, and we'd position ourselves at the tip, catching birds hugging the shoreline as they traded between feeding areas. Buffleheads were the main quarry, but occasionally old-squaw (these were in the pre-PC days of calling them "long-tailed ducks") would come winging through, and we'd get the rare crack at a goldeneye. The real trophies, though, were the black ducks, which at that time of year had begun moving coastward from inland marshes. We'd often hear them quacking at distance and hunker down behind a boulder or driftwood log, waiting for them to cut over us en route to the cove behind.
When a bird was knocked down, we'd send the dogs for the retrieve-and once they'd become accustomed to the cold water there'd be no stopping them. Several times particularly tough divers led them so far out that we had to jump in the canoe to retrieve the retrievers.
Unfortunately, like so many good things, the hunting on that peninsula came to an end. We'd watched warily the encroachment of "For Sale" signs followed by "Posted" signs and then the inevitable McMansions that come with waterfront property. And then one year we showed up to find our dirt road with a chain across it and a sign that read "No Trespassing." Party over.
Since then we've tried to find another spot with equally good hunting, but to no avail. Most prime real estate is either locked up with no access or already being gunned over. You can bet we'll keep trying, though, as that's what waterfowling is all about: always searching for that next hot corner where the birds want to be.
This year, for the third time, we have given our November/December issue a distinct waterfowling flavor. Duck and goose hunting themes have been woven throughout the feature articles and departments. Our Special Waterfowl Guide, which also has been printed separately and is being distributed at several large sportsmen's shows, contains articles on classic fowling pieces and portable field blinds. We hope the stories and information inspire you to hunt your favorite spot this season.
If we were lucky, it would be low tide, as that would give us more rocky beach to hide on, and rising water always meant more birds. It also would preclude us moving the decoys every 15 minutes as the water dropped.
I say "us," but it was always Terry's job to set the decoys. He was the most experienced fowler in our crew, and he knew how to play the wind and tide. He also was the most obsessive among us, never quite being satisfied with the spread-every 15 minutes wading out to move a block a foot or two to make things "just so."
The decoys themselves were a sorry lot: a half-dozen black duck floaters that we'd spray-painted to look like buffleheads. ("Bufflizing," Terry called it.) On the odd occasion we'd lose one to the incoming tide, we'd simply replace it with a painted Clorox bottle -which seemingly worked just as well.
The peninsula stuck into a bay, and we'd position ourselves at the tip, catching birds hugging the shoreline as they traded between feeding areas. Buffleheads were the main quarry, but occasionally old-squaw (these were in the pre-PC days of calling them "long-tailed ducks") would come winging through, and we'd get the rare crack at a goldeneye. The real trophies, though, were the black ducks, which at that time of year had begun moving coastward from inland marshes. We'd often hear them quacking at distance and hunker down behind a boulder or driftwood log, waiting for them to cut over us en route to the cove behind.
When a bird was knocked down, we'd send the dogs for the retrieve-and once they'd become accustomed to the cold water there'd be no stopping them. Several times particularly tough divers led them so far out that we had to jump in the canoe to retrieve the retrievers.
Unfortunately, like so many good things, the hunting on that peninsula came to an end. We'd watched warily the encroachment of "For Sale" signs followed by "Posted" signs and then the inevitable McMansions that come with waterfront property. And then one year we showed up to find our dirt road with a chain across it and a sign that read "No Trespassing." Party over.
Since then we've tried to find another spot with equally good hunting, but to no avail. Most prime real estate is either locked up with no access or already being gunned over. You can bet we'll keep trying, though, as that's what waterfowling is all about: always searching for that next hot corner where the birds want to be.
This year, for the third time, we have given our November/December issue a distinct waterfowling flavor. Duck and goose hunting themes have been woven throughout the feature articles and departments. Our Special Waterfowl Guide, which also has been printed separately and is being distributed at several large sportsmen's shows, contains articles on classic fowling pieces and portable field blinds. We hope the stories and information inspire you to hunt your favorite spot this season.
- By: Ralph P. Stuart
