- Outdoor columnist Ben Smith says he’s not a real duck hunter but tells of “the best duck hunt (kinda)” he ever had.
Well, after the longest dry spell in over twenty years of hunting, I finally got on the scoreboard last week. It wasn’t exactly what I’d hoped to bring home, but we were totally out of meat, so a freezer queen was needed. It was the latest in the season that I’d killed a deer for as far back as I can remember. It’s not entirely for a lack of seeing deer, although I have recently proclaimed myself as the “spike king” due to the number of young bucks that I’ve seen this year. Rather, my lack of putting fur on the ground has been more to do with me just not being really mad at ‘em yet this year. However, getting that first one out of the way has rekindled my desire to be in the woods and my quest to kill a mature buck.
And speaking of rekindling a desire, I don’t know what has come over me lately, but I’ve got this great desire to shoot ducks rather than deer. Problem is we don’t have enough ducks on our place right now to talk about. And why would we? Today it’s 75 degrees and the birds I’d like to shoot are probably holed up around St. Louis right about now. To make matters even worse, our acorn crop was lousy at best. I haven’t found a single red oak that has had an acorn on it all year. The crummy weather coupled with a lack of food has pretty much made our place duck-less so far this year. We aren’t even holding wood ducks like we normally would. The only thing we’ve got going for us right now is that we have plenty of water available in the event the ducks do move down this way.
And since I’m in a duck mood for now, there’s a story that I don’t think that I’ve shared publicly before. Before I begin, let me preface this by saying I’m not really a duck hunter. I mean, I’m a duck opportunist when a chance comes knocking. But I’m not one of those guys that chases the migration and actually prepares for duck season. I don’t own decoys or a dog that will retrieve birds. I’ve got a dog that will retrieve most anything that dies, but she’ll swallow it whole before she brings it back to you. I have one old duck call that I’m not even sure works right. I don’t even own a pair of waders. Now that we’ve established that I’m not a real duck hunter, let me tell you about the best duck hunt (kinda) that I’ve ever had.
For a story like this you’d expect me to say that I was in Stuttgart, Arkansas in mid-December during a nice freeze. Or at the very least in the Mississippi Delta somewhere close to the big river. Nope. This particular hunt is staged in Lamar County, Mississippi. That’s where the real duck hunting happens apparently. I don’t even think the temperature was below fifty degrees. Duck hunters need to take note of these conditions.
This particular morning started off like most other mornings. I woke up later than I should and had to rush to get dressed and out the door. And like most mornings, I’m sure that I was probably muttering some ugly words under my breath toward other drivers on the road. The only real difference in this morning from most was the steady rain that was falling. The roads were a little slick and my windshield wipers sounded almost as bad as nails on a chalkboard. Even so, I pushed that little black Toyota to the limits through the back roads of Lamar County to make sure we weren’t late. No way was I going to let a few rain puddles and foggy windows keep Mackenzie from being to school on time.
We kept plugging along the backroads hoping to avoid any other motorists trying to do the same. What happened next will forever be ingrained in my memory. I took a left turn onto the final stretch of backroad before reaching the highway where I could really let those horses loose. As I pushed the gas pedal closer to the floor accelerating down the road everything, for a moment, moved in slow motion. There was an oncoming SUV stopped in the other lane. At first, I didn’t know why. All that I could see, due to a small hill, was from about her windshield up. As I topped the hill it became plain as day as to why she was stopped.
This kind lady was allowing the safe passage of several mallard ducks across the road. Uh oh. With the roads being wet and me being in far too big of a hurry to risk our lives to save some ducks, I never checked up. Y’all. When I say this lady was mortified, I mean she was absolutely mortified at the ensuing carnage that was about to take place. Remember, everything for me during this moment was in slow motion. I’ll never forget the look of horror on her face when that Tacoma cruised right through that family of ducks. I’m sure she still suffers from PTSD to this day.
Boom, boom, boom was the only sound that I remember. Time went back to normal. I looked back into the rearview mirror to see feathers flying all over the road. “Holy cow”, I yelled as I looked back at my destruction. Mackenzie was in the backseat, almost equally as mortified as the lady in the SUV. “Uh, Dad…do you think you killed them,” she asked with a worried look on her face. I was in so much disbelief that the only answer that I could muster at the time was, “Anything with the ability to fly should never walk across the road.” Part of me felt a little ashamed. The other part of me truly believed what I told her. Needless to say, we traveled the rest of the way to school in silence.
After I dropped Mackenzie off at school, I took the long way back home. No way was I going back to assess the damage (I already knew the outcome). Plus, I don’t think my heart could take going back and that lady still be sitting there in shock. So, to the lady in the SUV, I apologize for potentially ruining your life. If you’re out there reading this, I make a pretty good duck popper dinner and we’d love to have you over.
