As I oared the portaboat down to the western tip of the island, I maneuvered through the Goose, Buffle Head, Wood duck and lastly Mallard decoys we had placed out the night before. The spread may have been a “tad” over done but damn wasn’t it beautiful. I firmly believe that it you have a hundred decoys it is an absolute waste not to put them all out! Finally we managed to push and prod our way through the massive spread to the point where the Queen Mother of all duck lures lay . . . Mojo the spinning wing duck. Flicking a single switch the beast roared to life and the wind from his 12 volt driven wings almost blew off Duckmans favorite hunting hat.
Minutes later we arrived at the blind and I was somewhat surprised to see that all of our guns and equipment where in their correct places. From Duckmans actions, I had thoroughly expected that we were going to be embroiled in some type of fistfight with a band of renegade duck hunters but apparently all was well.
Jumping out of the boat I began hauling out the remainder of our gear including that most holy of duck hunting paraphernalia . . . the thermos of hot coffee. Juan Valdez how I love your hot, black, bitter goodness your luscious lip numbing intoxicating early morning mix comprised of equal parts H2O and coffee grinds. Oh Juan how scorned you must feel by the unholy individuals who pollute your hard work with vile things like sugar, milk, cream and artificial flavoring. Let me assure you Juan that I am not one of those individuals and that I worship at the shrine of coffee in its simplest form. Ok, maybe I get a little carried away with my love affair with coffee that could dissolve a spoon AND it is a distinct possibly that Duckman is not the first individual to complain about my “heart attack” blend. Truth be told for some of us (and by “us” I mean my brother and I) coffee is best served with the exact consistency of mud.
Breakfast in the blind always gives me that “calm before the storm” feeling. As Duckman and I sat back in the blind and watched a light rain drizzle down upon the decoys I nibbled on a piece of salted Pollock, drank my cup of atomic coffee and began sending out low “quacking” notes on my duck call. As the magical hour of shooting time approached the marsh came alive with the sound of Wood Ducks, Teal and Mallards. I could tell that Duckman was excited as his head swiveled left to right like he was watching a tennis match. One last look at my watch and I informed the Duckman that it was in fact “legal” . . .
For the Duckman's side of the story please visit: http://thedowneastduckhunter.blogspot.com