Age Experienced

For the first time in my life, I felt it this year. After 40 years of hunting, age is catching up with me. The less than ½ mile hike on my first day to the duck blind seemed like 2 miles. Granted I am carrying a 20 pound pack, wearing waders and have 5lbs of mud on each boot but as I trudge across the farm field I see the flashlights of my younger and longer legged hunting companions getting dimmer and dimmer ahead of me.

I finally make it to the edge of the marsh where they are already busy setting up decoys. Wanting to pull my weight (no jokes necessary), I grab an armful myself and head to the edge of the water. As I near the edge I feel the grip of mud around the boots of my waders. “No worries” I think, “I have done this for years”. I continue out into the water struggling to pull my foot out of the mud with each step. Once I reach my desired depth and location I stand in place and start tossing the decoys around me. Satisfied with the set up I turn to head back to shore…. but my feet do not come with me. I almost fall, but regain my balance. To fall while mired in the mud would be the ultimate humiliation with a group and deadly if I were alone. Once you fall, there is no way to right yourself in the mud if you fell face first or even sideways.

Luckily, it is still dark so the others cannot see my dilemma. I stand there in the darkness trying to will my foot out of the mud. My foot cooperated but the boot of my wader does not. Finally, after 30 seconds I manage to pull my foot with my boot out of the mud and take a step. But I have two feet and now the other one is stuck securely in the mud. 30 seconds later I get that boot out and take another step but by now the other foot has encased itself again. I repeat the process over the next 5 minutes making it back to the blind with my companions clueless to my struggles.  

I am too exhausted to assist with the concealing of the duck blind so I just stand by and idly watch the others do what I used to do without breaking a sweat. That’s when I notice my much older friend Bob (a whole 19 days older) is doing the same thing I am. Just watching the younger lads go about their routine. Except he has his jacket open to cool off in the 40 degree morning. Apparently I am not alone in my struggles. We give each other knowing looks as the boys continue with the set up. At least they are none the wiser.

View from our blind

Once all the chores are done, we are ready to get into the blind and wait for sunrise. “Age Experienced guys on the ends”, one of them says. Well, so much for them being none the wiser. The ends of the blinds are the prime spots as you usually get the first crack at the ducks are they come in. Maybe being aged experienced has it benefits after all!

Our blinds are on the right

Slowly, they skies went from black to gray and eventually light. The ducks started flying, and the shooting began. Singles, doubles and larger flocks would come in and we were dropping ducks on almost every opportunity. We were taking turns letting the dogs retrieve. Dakota was doing great and having fun. Bob was working a young 14 month old lab who was doing great as well. 

Dakota retrieving a duck

Bob and Ember

Both Chris and Brian’s older dogs were working like the old pro’s they were.

Brian and Kimber

I was starting to feel better about myself. My shooting was on for the most part, both Bob and I were matching the young’ins shot for shot. Then Mother Nature played a cruel trick on me. We had dropped a duck maybe 60 yards from shore and Dakota did not see it fall. No problem I thought I will just throw a rock near it, Dakota will see the splash and know where to swim. I have done it dozens if not hundreds of times in the past. I pick up the perfect sized rock, get Dakota’s attention, wind up my throw and release the rock. In my mind it was going to be a perfectly arcing throw with the rock splashing within feet of the dead duck. What actual happened was me throwing a rock about 10 feet in front of me and well to the left, not even to the water! Dakota looks at me like “What the hell?” and I hear a chorus of laughter behind me. Humiliated I grab another rock and throw it, again, nowhere near the duck but luckily close enough that Dakota sees the downed bird floating in the water and promptly retrieves it.

Even Dakota was struggling with the mud

We went out every day chasing birds. Ducks in the morning, pheasants in the afternoon. Despite the drought, the ducks were plentiful in the potholes that still did contain water.  The pheasants were plentiful as well but a kink in my right knee prevented me from going out as much as I would have liked to and made for a painful experience with each step I took when I did go out. Luckily Farmer Bob had a knee brace he borrowed me and that helped. 

Bob and Ember pheasant hunting

The strangest thing that week happened when Bob had shot a duck that landed on shore. Then Ember was running to get it but a hawk in a near by tree saw it as well and the race was on! Bob and I sat there and watch this hawk gliding towards the duck arriving about 5’ in front of Ember. The hawk grabbed the duck and attempted to fly away but could not get off the ground quick enough and had to drop the bird in order to get away from Ember! Very cool sight.  

3 Hungarian Partridge, a pheasant and 4 ducks  

My favorite day duck hunting was also the most miserable. For those of you who are duck hunters out there, you know what I mean. The nastier the weather, the better the duck hunting. While all the young’ins stayed at home tucked into their warm beds. Bob and I ventured out into weather forecasted for 2+” of rain and sustained winds from the Northeast at 20-25mph. We were cold and wet but not miserable. After 2 hours of hunting, “5 more minutes” was the phrase of the day but the birds kept coming in. The dogs teeth were chattering, our fingers were getting numb but we kept said “5 more minutes” 5 or 6 times until we could not feel our fingers at all and we had to take our aching, age experienced bodies back to the truck. It was a hunt I will remember for the rest of my life….or at least until I start really losing my memory….

Wet and rainy day!

Everyone was cold and wet!

That's a pile of birds!

When we were not hunting we managed to get out to eats a couple of times with Farmer Bob and DeAnne. Plus she made us her infamous fleischkuechle one night and no trip to the farm is complete without Barb making a couple of apple crisps either.  The crops were all in, one of the poorest harvests they have had in years, maybe decades, due to the drought. So for for the first time in several years I did not work while up there. That did not stop Barb from working as I was out hunting, she was busy cleaning the outside of the camper. What a difference that made!

The least fun event of the week was when Zoey went into heat. Let me tell you right now, having a dog go into heat is no fun, having a dog going into heat in a 100sf camper is even less fun! Holly was nice enough to donate a Onesie so she could wear a diaper for the week we were there. She was so miserable, the poor girl would just sit there, stare at you and whine.

Poor Zoey

That pretty much sums up my week of duck and pheasant hunting on the North Dakota prairie. Lots of birds, both pheasants and ducks. Lots of laughs, lots of memories, lots of aches and pains ….many reminders that I am not 20, 30 or even 40 anymore. 

So now after 8 weeks, 4,780 miles, 5 states and one province, it was time to head home. South Dakota is calling us and we have a lot of work to do!