The Boy fell into the joys and miseries of duck hunting long before he had regular access, or any other kind of access, to private land that held ducks, and so he began earning the lifetime of amazing waterfowl hunting that lay ahead. Along the way, there would be hard days here and there. There’d also be slow days here and there, of course. Private land does not mean private ducks, and it is still hunting, after all. There would not be any more days as hard and as challenging as those that were his everyday in the beginning, though. Not unless he intentionally sought them out.
Duck hunting had caught the Boy’s eye with imagination inspired by the birds’ migration. Bouncing south across the prairies, sailing down the rivers, crossing hollows and hills with a blue sky high above, wings beating steadily or set to coast in an uneven V, the birds’ journeys piqued the Boy’s interests. Hunting from well-constructed blinds overlooking thoughtfully-placed decoy spreads would have to wait until he was older, though, because most of what was to be had at the time involved much struggle and improvisation.
This, even when well executed, typically didn’t result in any great number of ducks, either. Two wood ducks and two mallards apiece for two hunters working together, in fact, made the haul for such a morning far better than average at that. But, the rub was this: Everyone who wasn’t driven away by this curious exchange of effort and result was hooked for life. For the faithful, this is a glimpse of how nature’s magic is made.
Any given hunt’s destination is not so much a place on a map as it is a spot in the subconscious. With the right attention to detail, any trip outdoors can become an epic quest — one of the sort that packs months of magical, fantastic adventure into the gap before 8 a.m. Monday morning and after quitting time the prior Friday’s afternoon.
Limits of mallards in their brightest, fullest plumage are earned, but not necessarily on the day the birds are collected. At certain times of year, the socials are full of photos of smiling guys in waders posed alongside someone’s limits of ducks and geese, and productive shoots are always rewarding occasions.
Real enjoyment of those rewards depends heavily on the rewards having been earned, usually by struggling through the icy dark on the way to set up for a hunt whose outcome was uncertain.
They’re earned while laboring heavily laden, with fingers wet and extremities numb from the cold while one’s midriff swelters, awash in sweat. No selfie stick in the world can get the angle right to capture the heart of that scene.
No, appreciation requires suffering paid in advance. Otherwise, it’s just a photo op.
Public land duck hunting in the Deep South is hard. Glorying in the excesses of its difficulties bonds hunters who’ve never met to one another. Respect shown among hunters in such scenarios is real. The rewards it sometimes sends home to the table? They’re real as any food ever could be.
Once captured, the goal becomes making sure every precious ounce of reward is enjoyed. That’s why, when you see a hunter who prefers to cook at least some of his ducks with the skin left on, you’re more likely to be looking at someone who knows what it took to earn it.
Kevin Tate is a freelance writer. Email [email protected].
You can help your community
Quality, in-depth journalism is essential to a healthy community. The Dispatch brings you the most complete reporting and insightful commentary in the Golden Triangle, but we need your help to continue our efforts. In the past week, our reporters have posted 24 articles to cdispatch.com. Please consider subscribing to our website for only $2.30 per week to help support local journalism and our community.
You can help your community
Quality, in-depth journalism is essential to a healthy community. The Dispatch brings you the most complete reporting and insightful commentary in the Golden Triangle, but we need your help to continue our efforts. In the past week, our reporters have posted 24 articles to cdispatch.com. Please consider subscribing to our website for only $2.30 per week to help support local journalism and our community.
