“Get the lid
Greg”
By Bob Zettler
January 20, 2008
By Bob Zettler
January 20, 2008
Where in the
World is "Carmen" Zettler?
Niska. It was the last weekend of the Illinois duck season for the southern zone and I was prepared for whatever man, nature, God and the Devil might throw my way as I decided to start out early and head to Rend Lake on Friday morning. Instead of public hunting, we decided to take advantage of the hospitality at Niska Farms just outside Nason and adjacent to the refuge.
Nick Shafer and I have a relationship with John Clark, the owner, and we decided to go after the geese rather than ducks for the morning. There was Nick, his partner in crime John Nolan, and a newbie who had never shot a goose yet, called “Hetty.” Not his real name but something he had been tagged with by some ladies as he was attending SIU-C. Why, we still do not know but I bet there is a story in there somewhere¦
Anyway, we set up an excellent spread of field decoys and had the entire club to ourselves while we waited on the birds in our luxurious Hill Pit. I even brought pastries and Nick had his two dogs who would be used to collect our bounty. As usual, the birds did not fly early and that provided us the time to chat and discuss the world economy situation as it relates to waterfowling - right! And then it came out, this Hetty was related by blood to our own drylock at the Refuge! Now that is a downright scary thought having another one of his ilk hunting next to me but I forged on after calling drylock to confirm and tease him about how good we were doing!
Anyway, the only thing that got harvested that morning was the pastries by Nick’s dogs, no wonder they were quiet, as the birds just did not fly like they did the day before where several had been taken and many more missed. Go figure as I was there now! However, we stuck it out till 1 PM and picked up as Nick had to get to work and I then spent some time with John Clark who is 75 years young to talk a little about Niska and waterfowling.
Springfield. All too soon I was on the road and headed home but man was I tired! Too many miles and too little sleep were taking its toll on me and I did not get into the Springfield area until nearly 6 PM where I was headed to bed ASAP and that is where I learned I had to pick up my daughter from work after 9 PM. Crap! As I could tell how beat I was and that losing another four hours of sleep was in the offing, I called Billy Melvin and Greg Masterson that I would not be able to make it down there in time for Saturday morning. I had an invite from Greg Masterson to come down for some time but we just never established a date or time and Billy was still trying to get me that Bull Can or Sprig or any doggone duck that was still in the area!
Anyway, Billy said to call when I got in the area and I could join up with them. I had planned on getting there around 7 AM but as my luck would have it that was the time I woke up in bed! Talk about refreshed and relaxed! Took a quick shower and headed on down the road knowing I could join with Billy for a hunt for that morning if he was still out or that afternoon if they hadn’t limited. Greg was on hold as we hadn’t been able to talk directly yet and that Olive Branch is WAY down there!
Macoupin County. On my way down I-55 I started to see some wisps of smoke on the horizon in front of me as I approached as area we hunt but as I drew closer that smoke turned into flocks of SOB’s! My God there was a line of SOB’s stretching from east of the Interstate all the way to the horizon in the west so I decided to pull off and watch the show. This procession continued for at least another 20 minutes while I called my hunting buddies to inform them of how our fields were most likely getting covered with geese.
Heck, I even saw the Canada geese start dropping right into the same field we hunted in on New Year’s Eve day and did they drop! It wasn’t one of those a flock here and a flock there but it was as if the ground had sprung a leak and a flood of grey crude was spreading out from a central hole! These dark geese continued to simply drop in and huddle together to feed in this spot which grew in diameter every minute to the point I was considering jumping out and over the fence with my shotgun and a few dekes to bag an easy limit but I had people waiting¦
And then a single Snow dropped in and it was if the recess bell had rung as now the SOB’s started to drop into the grey pool and taking over. No wonder the Tundra is in danger for the Canada geese!
Nashville. After nearly 30 minutes I had to get going again and eventually reached Nashville (Illinois) where I stopped again for a coveted Mocha Latte from the DQ; which just happened to be having a half-price sale! My kind of people! So, while I was snug and warm in my van with an ice cold drink, I decided to call Billy to see if I could still join him but discovered they had already quit for the morning and were headed home to warm up. No big deal but I was starting to think about calling someone to start a thread in the Carmen Sandiego vein of, “Where in the world is Zettler now”, but forged on in hopes of still hunting with Greg down at his club in Olive Branch.
Jackson County. I then made another couple of quick stops in Murphysboro and Carbondale before getting on Route 51 southbound. Now I hadn’t been on Route 51 in years and was amazed at all the new homes, better road conditions and the like, all ensconced in some beautiful southern Illinois countryside. Sure, it was still cold outside but the sun was shining and the ride was enjoyable as compared to all my usual early morning or evening drives the past few months in the dark while I traveled to and from hunting locations. And here I was in a comfortable new used mini-van going up and down the rolling countryside’s hills when I realized I was a tad over the limit so I began to let off the pedal only to see a State trooper headed northbound slam on his brakes and flip on his lights. Que sera!
Makanda. I was pulled over before he even got turned around and waited on him with the window open and my hands in plain sight - experience from my rebel rousing days - and greeted him with the statement that I knew I had been speeding but had been slowing down just before I spotted him as I had just crested a hill. I asked him how fast he had me as I am sure he would have seen I was slowing down but was shocked to learn he had clocked on me at 73 MPH. Yep, ole Zett’s was speeding but my speedometer had said 66 or so when I caught it and before he turned on his lights. We talked for a minute and I exclaimed that I knew I was wrong and just wasn’t use to the conditions. Now here is where it takes a different turn, after he asks if I had any recent tickets and I respond it has been a long, long time he says that he is inclined to issue me a warning! Hold it! This is me, the Dark Cloud who done the dirty deed and I am in SOUTHERN ILLINOIS with a STATE TROOPER!! How can I be so lucky????
He disappears to check me out on-line and comes back five minutes later with a WARNING TICKET for going 64 MPH in a 55 MPH zone. I gotta buy a lottery ticket!!!! He was very nice about it and we talked for another couple of minutes before I realized I better shut up or he might rethink his position and throw me in the hoosegow with Bubba! Wow! All I can say is wow as State Troopers are not known for leniency and I just got lucky. Many thanks to this trooper!
Niska. It was the last weekend of the Illinois duck season for the southern zone and I was prepared for whatever man, nature, God and the Devil might throw my way as I decided to start out early and head to Rend Lake on Friday morning. Instead of public hunting, we decided to take advantage of the hospitality at Niska Farms just outside Nason and adjacent to the refuge.
Nick Shafer and I have a relationship with John Clark, the owner, and we decided to go after the geese rather than ducks for the morning. There was Nick, his partner in crime John Nolan, and a newbie who had never shot a goose yet, called “Hetty.” Not his real name but something he had been tagged with by some ladies as he was attending SIU-C. Why, we still do not know but I bet there is a story in there somewhere¦
Anyway, we set up an excellent spread of field decoys and had the entire club to ourselves while we waited on the birds in our luxurious Hill Pit. I even brought pastries and Nick had his two dogs who would be used to collect our bounty. As usual, the birds did not fly early and that provided us the time to chat and discuss the world economy situation as it relates to waterfowling - right! And then it came out, this Hetty was related by blood to our own drylock at the Refuge! Now that is a downright scary thought having another one of his ilk hunting next to me but I forged on after calling drylock to confirm and tease him about how good we were doing!
Anyway, the only thing that got harvested that morning was the pastries by Nick’s dogs, no wonder they were quiet, as the birds just did not fly like they did the day before where several had been taken and many more missed. Go figure as I was there now! However, we stuck it out till 1 PM and picked up as Nick had to get to work and I then spent some time with John Clark who is 75 years young to talk a little about Niska and waterfowling.
Springfield. All too soon I was on the road and headed home but man was I tired! Too many miles and too little sleep were taking its toll on me and I did not get into the Springfield area until nearly 6 PM where I was headed to bed ASAP and that is where I learned I had to pick up my daughter from work after 9 PM. Crap! As I could tell how beat I was and that losing another four hours of sleep was in the offing, I called Billy Melvin and Greg Masterson that I would not be able to make it down there in time for Saturday morning. I had an invite from Greg Masterson to come down for some time but we just never established a date or time and Billy was still trying to get me that Bull Can or Sprig or any doggone duck that was still in the area!
Anyway, Billy said to call when I got in the area and I could join up with them. I had planned on getting there around 7 AM but as my luck would have it that was the time I woke up in bed! Talk about refreshed and relaxed! Took a quick shower and headed on down the road knowing I could join with Billy for a hunt for that morning if he was still out or that afternoon if they hadn’t limited. Greg was on hold as we hadn’t been able to talk directly yet and that Olive Branch is WAY down there!
Macoupin County. On my way down I-55 I started to see some wisps of smoke on the horizon in front of me as I approached as area we hunt but as I drew closer that smoke turned into flocks of SOB’s! My God there was a line of SOB’s stretching from east of the Interstate all the way to the horizon in the west so I decided to pull off and watch the show. This procession continued for at least another 20 minutes while I called my hunting buddies to inform them of how our fields were most likely getting covered with geese.
Heck, I even saw the Canada geese start dropping right into the same field we hunted in on New Year’s Eve day and did they drop! It wasn’t one of those a flock here and a flock there but it was as if the ground had sprung a leak and a flood of grey crude was spreading out from a central hole! These dark geese continued to simply drop in and huddle together to feed in this spot which grew in diameter every minute to the point I was considering jumping out and over the fence with my shotgun and a few dekes to bag an easy limit but I had people waiting¦
And then a single Snow dropped in and it was if the recess bell had rung as now the SOB’s started to drop into the grey pool and taking over. No wonder the Tundra is in danger for the Canada geese!
Nashville. After nearly 30 minutes I had to get going again and eventually reached Nashville (Illinois) where I stopped again for a coveted Mocha Latte from the DQ; which just happened to be having a half-price sale! My kind of people! So, while I was snug and warm in my van with an ice cold drink, I decided to call Billy to see if I could still join him but discovered they had already quit for the morning and were headed home to warm up. No big deal but I was starting to think about calling someone to start a thread in the Carmen Sandiego vein of, “Where in the world is Zettler now”, but forged on in hopes of still hunting with Greg down at his club in Olive Branch.
Jackson County. I then made another couple of quick stops in Murphysboro and Carbondale before getting on Route 51 southbound. Now I hadn’t been on Route 51 in years and was amazed at all the new homes, better road conditions and the like, all ensconced in some beautiful southern Illinois countryside. Sure, it was still cold outside but the sun was shining and the ride was enjoyable as compared to all my usual early morning or evening drives the past few months in the dark while I traveled to and from hunting locations. And here I was in a comfortable new used mini-van going up and down the rolling countryside’s hills when I realized I was a tad over the limit so I began to let off the pedal only to see a State trooper headed northbound slam on his brakes and flip on his lights. Que sera!
Makanda. I was pulled over before he even got turned around and waited on him with the window open and my hands in plain sight - experience from my rebel rousing days - and greeted him with the statement that I knew I had been speeding but had been slowing down just before I spotted him as I had just crested a hill. I asked him how fast he had me as I am sure he would have seen I was slowing down but was shocked to learn he had clocked on me at 73 MPH. Yep, ole Zett’s was speeding but my speedometer had said 66 or so when I caught it and before he turned on his lights. We talked for a minute and I exclaimed that I knew I was wrong and just wasn’t use to the conditions. Now here is where it takes a different turn, after he asks if I had any recent tickets and I respond it has been a long, long time he says that he is inclined to issue me a warning! Hold it! This is me, the Dark Cloud who done the dirty deed and I am in SOUTHERN ILLINOIS with a STATE TROOPER!! How can I be so lucky????
He disappears to check me out on-line and comes back five minutes later with a WARNING TICKET for going 64 MPH in a 55 MPH zone. I gotta buy a lottery ticket!!!! He was very nice about it and we talked for another couple of minutes before I realized I better shut up or he might rethink his position and throw me in the hoosegow with Bubba! Wow! All I can say is wow as State Troopers are not known for leniency and I just got lucky. Many thanks to this trooper!
Olive Branch. As I approach Olive Branch, I realize I still do not know where Greg’s
club is located and cannot raise him on the telephone so I call Gimp Hunter.
Norm provides directions and of course I drive right on by and only realize it
when I am a mile past Worthington’s club - a club that 20 years ago would tell
you to leave if you shot at a duck when there were geese around. Anyway, I go
back and stop at the Southern Aire to ask directions and realize this is the
spot! They get Greg on the radio and
tell me to get ready. Well, you don’t have to tell me twice so I throw on my
camo, waders and get my blind bag and gun. Herman comes over and has me get in
his car for the drive over to the pit. It wasn’t far but it was in an area that
I had never been to down at Olive Branch. You see I use to hunt geese down
there starting back in the late 1970’s all the way through 1990 but that ended
when I got hooked on North Dakota and thought I had money. And I did still have
another connection down there as my former mother-in-law was born and raised
there but I could never recall her maiden name!
But I digress as usual.
Now many know that southern Illinois has some of the most beautiful scenery, what with the aforementioned rolling hills, and then the waterways, forests and quaint hamlets scattered throughout the hidden valleys and hideaways but it is also some of the poorest country this side of Appalachia! Don’t get me wrong but per capita is some of the lowest in Illinois down there and Alexander County “persons living below poverty in 2004 was 23.8%.And losing the distinction of being the “Goose Capital of the World” back in the 1990’s has had a profound impact on the people and businesses down there what with the northern shifts in goose migration and where hunters now go to harvest a Honker.
But having said that, some have realized that there was a little silver lining in that Dark Cloud by virtue of the value of the ducks that continued to migrate south. Sure, they too can get short-stopped when the winter weather stays mild and there are plenty of warm water spots for them to linger around and on. But for the most part, what with the confluence of the Mississippi and Ohio Rivers meeting right there and the presence of the Cache River continuing to increase its influence every season, you have a duck hunters dream!
There is flooded timber galore and now the landowners have adapted to our evolving waterfowling world by working the lands for ducks primarily, instead of geese. Now don’t get me wrong, there are still geese migrating in but not always like they did. Yet, even that dynamic is changing. You see, some people like Greg Masterson have been trying to imprint Canada geese into the area every year now for some time. In addition, and this is something most Illinois waterfowlers already know, is that the Snow and Blue goose have invaded southern Illinois too! What began as a few here and there back in the early 1990’s has exploded into 100’s of thousands of those SOB’s flowing throughout the state many times taking over large tracts of refuge lands originally established for the Canada goose. Those poor Canada’s just can’t get a break, first they start losing their nesting habitat and now they are plagued by these noisy interlopers the length and run of their migratory path too!
And while there are still goose hunting clubs, leases and the like throughout Alexander, Union, Williamson and Jackson Counties, it looks to me that hidden away in Alexander are a bunch of duck hunting opportunities and I mean a bunch! And when you see Big Money people move in and establish a place here and there for themselves where the sole purpose is to kill ducks for themselves, friends and clients, then you know you’re on to something. For when I heard how much some of the land was going for in what used to be some of the cheapest land you could find this side of a toxic waste site, you realize that maybe they have turned a corner!
Once again, I digress!
Back to hunting. Herman drives me down a paved back road to an entrance into the woods where you can begin to see some flooded crops scattered throughout, a number of vehicles some high dollar and others held together by the rust they have earned over the years and ducks. Not just a couple of ducks but a BUNCH of ducks! Shangri-La, we have arrived!!!
I get my waders on as I did not bring any hip boots, grab my blind bag and cased shotgun and head on down the path to where Greg Masterson and Dave, his client, are standing in a concrete pit. It is maybe 100 yards away but I stop halfway when I see they have left their gun case on the path. As I start to uncase mine and yell to ask if I needed to just bring shells as it is only a three-man pit, a voice 20 yards responds that those are his and I should just go ahead to the pit! WTH? I learn later that it seems Greg has thrown out a friend of his to make room for me but I just thought it was another hunter waiting in the wings for when one of us kills out, so I go ahead and make my way to the temple! I mean, the pit.
This spot has water in front, to the west and behind, with the dozen decoys set behind us and one Robo just spinning inches above the waterline. There are hunters in pits all around us but separated by tree lines and maybe twice the distance you would find elsewhere which improves the hunting in my opinion. Introductions are made and I climb in with Greg in the middle to call the shots. Inside the pit were chairs and concrete blocks to step up on to shoot. The lids were heavy-duty wire fence with green willow branches intertwined so you could look through but provide a break-up to hide us below. There were three lids and they opened with the hinge behind us. I likee!
This is Dave’s first duck hunt but he had been hunting geese for years up in the Northern Zone where they would just come in droves in response to your calling and location. As a matter of fact, that is how Dave and Greg had met when Greg was guiding up there this past season. It was after a hunt where Greg enticed those Canada geese right down on top of Dave and the rest of the hunters so sweetly with one of Masterson’s calls that when Dave learned his name, he was thrown for a loop. You see Dave had heard of and watched Greg hunting on videos in the past and knew of his abilities and talents (hunting that is) but was shocked to actually meet him and hunt with him up in the Chicago area no less! And since Dave had never hunted ducks, and since Greg not only makes and sells calls, he also offers some of the best opportunities to harvest a variety of waterfowl, Dave knew he had to come on down to hunt with one of the best.
As I was a guest, I made the decision to only shoot after Dave and it wasn’t long before he and I had my first opportunity; actually, it was as soon as I made it to the pit! With a cloudless blue sky and a bright sun in our faces, I was having difficulty spotting the ducks before they were right there in front but Greg wanted them in your face so he would work them with his own Greg Masterson duck call till they were locked up, feet down and almost in the water. With the decoys behind us and the woods with the pathway I walked to the pit on my side, the open water on Dave’s side seemed to be more inviting as these green-headed Mallards were all coming to the call right in front of and to the right of Dave who was on the west side of the blind. That is okay as once he shoots then I will unload because Greg isn’t even loaded! Heh! Heh!
That first duck drops right in on Dave and Greg calls the shot, even raising all three lids for us to make the kill easier. We rise and after a couple of seconds Dave shoots, shoots again and then that Drake Mallard is clawing his way out of there so I pull up on him just as he puts himself between me and the bright, shining Sun! Now I have to wait a second or two and I miss, miss and miss. WTH! Must be the excitement from the drive down and having Mallards right in our faces that caused us to miss. Yeah, that has to be it. Now, this same scene is repeated again and again to the point I am seriously wondering what is wrong with my shotgun, choke, shotshells, and of course ME! No one else concerns me as I am the one missing shots at Mallard drakes well within range.
Sure, I am waiting on Dave to shoot first and he is a little slow getting on the ducks.
Sure, that when I get my chance I have to wait till they are either in front or behind and not over the other hunters so I will not ring their ears.
Sure, that nine out of 10 times (or at least that percentage) I am shooting at Mallard Drakes as they are beating wings and webbed feet out of there a number of seconds AFTER the lids are opened, Dave takes his shot(s) and I can now take a shot without future impairment of my pit partners.
Sure, 8 out of those same 10 opportunities that when I do get the chance to pull the trigger it is only AFTER the Mallard Drake has cleared the ever-present Sun in my eyes.
But what in the name of Sam Hill is going on that I am hitting about a fifth of what I shoot at only to see them make it over to the next harvest hole opportunity where someone else brings them to bag!!!!
Unfortunately, I am shooting Winchester HV 3” shotshells in the BB configuration when I should be shooting my regular #2’s but I grabbed the wrong box AND had taken all the 3” #2’s out of my blind bag just the night before where I left them at home. As a matter of fact, all I had were BB’s in 3” and 3 ½ shotshells, except for a couple of boxes of Remington Wingmaster HD 3” #4’s and I use those for geese! Now I look over and find that Dave is using the same Remington Wingmaster HD 3” #4’s and he hasn’t touched a feather while I had been there. And since he got there around 11 AM, it appears from the number of shells he has unleashed so far that they were not the answer except to the shareholders of Remington Ammunition stock!
Now Greg was patient and kept reminding us that it was okay and we had not seen anything yet (duck wise) but our shooting was getting so bad that even he decided to load up in order to assist at least on the cripples. However, Greg seems to be more frugal than me and after he pulled some shotshells out of his pocket, I watched as he began to scratch the rust off of them! He wouldn’t take any shells from me even though I had plenty as he was steadfast in seeing Dave got his first duck and that we as a crew would eventually take our limits. Maybe so but now I was not only embarrassed but concerned that I would ever connect, as these numbers of working Mallards could not continue to provide us with so many opportunities even though we had two hours or so left in the day!
I was really railing at myself over my not being able to connect. No, I did not ridicule Dave as he had to deal with a totally different set of circumstances too: he had never hunted ducks; he had never hunted out of pit like this; he had the sun to deal with too, and; he had to feel peer pressure from all of us and that poor guy lying out in the woods watching all of this unfold! I understood all of this but it didn’t make it easier for me as I was flat out missing close and many times easy shots at big, fat Mallard Drakes. Now I hope Dave did not do this because he felt I was upset with him, as there was no reason to be upset with him, but he offered to switch ends with me in an attempt to maybe change our luck. Yes, he had heard that one of my nicknames was Dark Cloud but I think he did it out of compassion and sharing, two traits not always found when people are hunting waterfowl.
But I digress as usual.
Now many know that southern Illinois has some of the most beautiful scenery, what with the aforementioned rolling hills, and then the waterways, forests and quaint hamlets scattered throughout the hidden valleys and hideaways but it is also some of the poorest country this side of Appalachia! Don’t get me wrong but per capita is some of the lowest in Illinois down there and Alexander County “persons living below poverty in 2004 was 23.8%.And losing the distinction of being the “Goose Capital of the World” back in the 1990’s has had a profound impact on the people and businesses down there what with the northern shifts in goose migration and where hunters now go to harvest a Honker.
But having said that, some have realized that there was a little silver lining in that Dark Cloud by virtue of the value of the ducks that continued to migrate south. Sure, they too can get short-stopped when the winter weather stays mild and there are plenty of warm water spots for them to linger around and on. But for the most part, what with the confluence of the Mississippi and Ohio Rivers meeting right there and the presence of the Cache River continuing to increase its influence every season, you have a duck hunters dream!
There is flooded timber galore and now the landowners have adapted to our evolving waterfowling world by working the lands for ducks primarily, instead of geese. Now don’t get me wrong, there are still geese migrating in but not always like they did. Yet, even that dynamic is changing. You see, some people like Greg Masterson have been trying to imprint Canada geese into the area every year now for some time. In addition, and this is something most Illinois waterfowlers already know, is that the Snow and Blue goose have invaded southern Illinois too! What began as a few here and there back in the early 1990’s has exploded into 100’s of thousands of those SOB’s flowing throughout the state many times taking over large tracts of refuge lands originally established for the Canada goose. Those poor Canada’s just can’t get a break, first they start losing their nesting habitat and now they are plagued by these noisy interlopers the length and run of their migratory path too!
And while there are still goose hunting clubs, leases and the like throughout Alexander, Union, Williamson and Jackson Counties, it looks to me that hidden away in Alexander are a bunch of duck hunting opportunities and I mean a bunch! And when you see Big Money people move in and establish a place here and there for themselves where the sole purpose is to kill ducks for themselves, friends and clients, then you know you’re on to something. For when I heard how much some of the land was going for in what used to be some of the cheapest land you could find this side of a toxic waste site, you realize that maybe they have turned a corner!
Once again, I digress!
Back to hunting. Herman drives me down a paved back road to an entrance into the woods where you can begin to see some flooded crops scattered throughout, a number of vehicles some high dollar and others held together by the rust they have earned over the years and ducks. Not just a couple of ducks but a BUNCH of ducks! Shangri-La, we have arrived!!!
I get my waders on as I did not bring any hip boots, grab my blind bag and cased shotgun and head on down the path to where Greg Masterson and Dave, his client, are standing in a concrete pit. It is maybe 100 yards away but I stop halfway when I see they have left their gun case on the path. As I start to uncase mine and yell to ask if I needed to just bring shells as it is only a three-man pit, a voice 20 yards responds that those are his and I should just go ahead to the pit! WTH? I learn later that it seems Greg has thrown out a friend of his to make room for me but I just thought it was another hunter waiting in the wings for when one of us kills out, so I go ahead and make my way to the temple! I mean, the pit.
This spot has water in front, to the west and behind, with the dozen decoys set behind us and one Robo just spinning inches above the waterline. There are hunters in pits all around us but separated by tree lines and maybe twice the distance you would find elsewhere which improves the hunting in my opinion. Introductions are made and I climb in with Greg in the middle to call the shots. Inside the pit were chairs and concrete blocks to step up on to shoot. The lids were heavy-duty wire fence with green willow branches intertwined so you could look through but provide a break-up to hide us below. There were three lids and they opened with the hinge behind us. I likee!
This is Dave’s first duck hunt but he had been hunting geese for years up in the Northern Zone where they would just come in droves in response to your calling and location. As a matter of fact, that is how Dave and Greg had met when Greg was guiding up there this past season. It was after a hunt where Greg enticed those Canada geese right down on top of Dave and the rest of the hunters so sweetly with one of Masterson’s calls that when Dave learned his name, he was thrown for a loop. You see Dave had heard of and watched Greg hunting on videos in the past and knew of his abilities and talents (hunting that is) but was shocked to actually meet him and hunt with him up in the Chicago area no less! And since Dave had never hunted ducks, and since Greg not only makes and sells calls, he also offers some of the best opportunities to harvest a variety of waterfowl, Dave knew he had to come on down to hunt with one of the best.
As I was a guest, I made the decision to only shoot after Dave and it wasn’t long before he and I had my first opportunity; actually, it was as soon as I made it to the pit! With a cloudless blue sky and a bright sun in our faces, I was having difficulty spotting the ducks before they were right there in front but Greg wanted them in your face so he would work them with his own Greg Masterson duck call till they were locked up, feet down and almost in the water. With the decoys behind us and the woods with the pathway I walked to the pit on my side, the open water on Dave’s side seemed to be more inviting as these green-headed Mallards were all coming to the call right in front of and to the right of Dave who was on the west side of the blind. That is okay as once he shoots then I will unload because Greg isn’t even loaded! Heh! Heh!
That first duck drops right in on Dave and Greg calls the shot, even raising all three lids for us to make the kill easier. We rise and after a couple of seconds Dave shoots, shoots again and then that Drake Mallard is clawing his way out of there so I pull up on him just as he puts himself between me and the bright, shining Sun! Now I have to wait a second or two and I miss, miss and miss. WTH! Must be the excitement from the drive down and having Mallards right in our faces that caused us to miss. Yeah, that has to be it. Now, this same scene is repeated again and again to the point I am seriously wondering what is wrong with my shotgun, choke, shotshells, and of course ME! No one else concerns me as I am the one missing shots at Mallard drakes well within range.
Sure, I am waiting on Dave to shoot first and he is a little slow getting on the ducks.
Sure, that when I get my chance I have to wait till they are either in front or behind and not over the other hunters so I will not ring their ears.
Sure, that nine out of 10 times (or at least that percentage) I am shooting at Mallard Drakes as they are beating wings and webbed feet out of there a number of seconds AFTER the lids are opened, Dave takes his shot(s) and I can now take a shot without future impairment of my pit partners.
Sure, 8 out of those same 10 opportunities that when I do get the chance to pull the trigger it is only AFTER the Mallard Drake has cleared the ever-present Sun in my eyes.
But what in the name of Sam Hill is going on that I am hitting about a fifth of what I shoot at only to see them make it over to the next harvest hole opportunity where someone else brings them to bag!!!!
Unfortunately, I am shooting Winchester HV 3” shotshells in the BB configuration when I should be shooting my regular #2’s but I grabbed the wrong box AND had taken all the 3” #2’s out of my blind bag just the night before where I left them at home. As a matter of fact, all I had were BB’s in 3” and 3 ½ shotshells, except for a couple of boxes of Remington Wingmaster HD 3” #4’s and I use those for geese! Now I look over and find that Dave is using the same Remington Wingmaster HD 3” #4’s and he hasn’t touched a feather while I had been there. And since he got there around 11 AM, it appears from the number of shells he has unleashed so far that they were not the answer except to the shareholders of Remington Ammunition stock!
Now Greg was patient and kept reminding us that it was okay and we had not seen anything yet (duck wise) but our shooting was getting so bad that even he decided to load up in order to assist at least on the cripples. However, Greg seems to be more frugal than me and after he pulled some shotshells out of his pocket, I watched as he began to scratch the rust off of them! He wouldn’t take any shells from me even though I had plenty as he was steadfast in seeing Dave got his first duck and that we as a crew would eventually take our limits. Maybe so but now I was not only embarrassed but concerned that I would ever connect, as these numbers of working Mallards could not continue to provide us with so many opportunities even though we had two hours or so left in the day!
I was really railing at myself over my not being able to connect. No, I did not ridicule Dave as he had to deal with a totally different set of circumstances too: he had never hunted ducks; he had never hunted out of pit like this; he had the sun to deal with too, and; he had to feel peer pressure from all of us and that poor guy lying out in the woods watching all of this unfold! I understood all of this but it didn’t make it easier for me as I was flat out missing close and many times easy shots at big, fat Mallard Drakes. Now I hope Dave did not do this because he felt I was upset with him, as there was no reason to be upset with him, but he offered to switch ends with me in an attempt to maybe change our luck. Yes, he had heard that one of my nicknames was Dark Cloud but I think he did it out of compassion and sharing, two traits not always found when people are hunting waterfowl.
By now I had convinced
Greg to take some of my shells as after how many rounds (sign of embarrassment)
we still did not have a duck of our own on the water, so he stood ready to back
me up now. It didn’t take long before he dropped a nice Drake Mallard off of my
end and when the shot was called - BOOM! I got the stink off! Call it skill.
Call it luck. Call it “about damn time”! Whatever the case, we finally had one
down and it was killing time again! Now for the most part, if the ducks were
anywhere in front, behind or on Dave’s side, we let him shoot first and for
whatever reason he connected all by himself and it was another nice, big
Greenhead Mallard. No bands for his first trophy but a memorable bird
nonetheless!
Pretty soon we all had a number of Greenheads down and then we see one winging its way towards us from the distance but out in front. Now we are all hunkered down with Greg balancing his lid on his head as he watched and called at the lone duck. And he knows along with a lot of people of my desire to finally connect on a Bull Canvasback or Sprig (Pintail), so when he said this one was a Sprig I loudly said, “Right you jerk”! But then a couple of seconds later as this lone duck passes in front I see that tell-tail sign of his tail feather spike and it is as if a wall of stone falls over me. Some might call it “the zone”, or others might refer to it going “snake-eyed”. But whatever it was I was now as one with the world. There was nothing but me with my shotgun and that Drake Sprig. Nothing at all but that lid residing just over my head that up until now I had tried to assist Greg in opening each and every time so as to be a participant and not someone just watching. So when that Sprig was dropping into the water right out in front on my side and I decided to call the shot I said in a dead-serious voice that would have stopped a bar fight in progress, “Get the lid Greg”, he obliged.
I raised as if one with the world. I felt nothing as I shouldered my gun and released the safety placing the plane of the barrel right on that Sprig who was just becoming aware of my presence. I pulled the trigger without concern, fear or anxieties even though I had forgotten three times already that afternoon to either reload or chamber a shell. He was right there starting to climb upwards and out of there when the blast broke through the air between the two of us and then I saw it. I saw the pellets impact him right in the chest and he begin to fall as if his batteries had just died. No puff of feathers. No body parts flying or torn asunder. Just him falling belly up into the water right in front of the pit on my side about 15 yards away. His webbed feet giving a kick or two before the hounds of Hell erupted from inside the pit as I burst apart with 20+ years of pent up frustration of not being able to successfully kill a Bull Sprig on my own in Illinois, North Dakota, South Dakota and Texas. The content and context of my screams were primeval in nature mixed in with profanities that most would consider fighting words and were sure to halt the Mighty Ohio and Mississippi Rivers flow for the time they reverberated southward out of Olive Branch and all the way to the Gulf of Mexico. They might even be passing Venus right now and you can expect a flare of unusual sun spots next week as they tear into the sun itself.
Yes, I was happy. No, I was more than happy, I was ecstatic. And after punching the walls of the pit with my fists of joy and even my head I turned to look at the ashen faces of Greg and Dave who were looking for either an escape route or my return to sanity but we were interrupted by the radio asking if everyone was all right and if we needed an ambulance. No, the only body bag that day was reserved for that Bull Sprig as he lied peacefully on his back just yards away from the lucky and extremely happy hunter who just punched his ticket. And even though I left him out there for a little while which provided Greg the opportunity to tease me with questioning of where that Sprig had disappeared to I knew that no matter what happened the rest of the day or night, nothing could match what I just experienced! Nothing at all!
We ended up with seven Mallards and my Bull Sprig that I retrieved myself from out there in the ice. And it was so cold that it still had a piece of ice stuck to him as I cradled, yes, that is correct, I cradled that bird back to the pit when we quit early to let the ducks back in for the end of the season hunt I looked forward to the next day - Sunday, January 20. And as we took pictures and exchanged pleasantries and reviewed the time together, all I could do was see that series of mental pictures in my mind over and over again of that Bull Sprig as he cupped in front of me, the shot hitting him and how he laid there in the icy water not moving. It was a great feeling and one that will live with me forever I hope. Where I spent time with a master call maker, caller, waterfowler and a new inductee to duck hunting in a little place outside Olive Branch. A place that a decade before was reeling from the losses of absent Canada geese but has now established itself as a duck hunting Mecca for people who are experienced and those who are not. It has been a season of new and old for me. I have met and hunted with a lot of new people at new places but I have also hunted old places with old friends and one Heck of a mix of old and new. And while my primary mission this trip had been to close out the season with Greg duck hunting I had accomplished so much more!
Pretty soon we all had a number of Greenheads down and then we see one winging its way towards us from the distance but out in front. Now we are all hunkered down with Greg balancing his lid on his head as he watched and called at the lone duck. And he knows along with a lot of people of my desire to finally connect on a Bull Canvasback or Sprig (Pintail), so when he said this one was a Sprig I loudly said, “Right you jerk”! But then a couple of seconds later as this lone duck passes in front I see that tell-tail sign of his tail feather spike and it is as if a wall of stone falls over me. Some might call it “the zone”, or others might refer to it going “snake-eyed”. But whatever it was I was now as one with the world. There was nothing but me with my shotgun and that Drake Sprig. Nothing at all but that lid residing just over my head that up until now I had tried to assist Greg in opening each and every time so as to be a participant and not someone just watching. So when that Sprig was dropping into the water right out in front on my side and I decided to call the shot I said in a dead-serious voice that would have stopped a bar fight in progress, “Get the lid Greg”, he obliged.
I raised as if one with the world. I felt nothing as I shouldered my gun and released the safety placing the plane of the barrel right on that Sprig who was just becoming aware of my presence. I pulled the trigger without concern, fear or anxieties even though I had forgotten three times already that afternoon to either reload or chamber a shell. He was right there starting to climb upwards and out of there when the blast broke through the air between the two of us and then I saw it. I saw the pellets impact him right in the chest and he begin to fall as if his batteries had just died. No puff of feathers. No body parts flying or torn asunder. Just him falling belly up into the water right in front of the pit on my side about 15 yards away. His webbed feet giving a kick or two before the hounds of Hell erupted from inside the pit as I burst apart with 20+ years of pent up frustration of not being able to successfully kill a Bull Sprig on my own in Illinois, North Dakota, South Dakota and Texas. The content and context of my screams were primeval in nature mixed in with profanities that most would consider fighting words and were sure to halt the Mighty Ohio and Mississippi Rivers flow for the time they reverberated southward out of Olive Branch and all the way to the Gulf of Mexico. They might even be passing Venus right now and you can expect a flare of unusual sun spots next week as they tear into the sun itself.
Yes, I was happy. No, I was more than happy, I was ecstatic. And after punching the walls of the pit with my fists of joy and even my head I turned to look at the ashen faces of Greg and Dave who were looking for either an escape route or my return to sanity but we were interrupted by the radio asking if everyone was all right and if we needed an ambulance. No, the only body bag that day was reserved for that Bull Sprig as he lied peacefully on his back just yards away from the lucky and extremely happy hunter who just punched his ticket. And even though I left him out there for a little while which provided Greg the opportunity to tease me with questioning of where that Sprig had disappeared to I knew that no matter what happened the rest of the day or night, nothing could match what I just experienced! Nothing at all!
We ended up with seven Mallards and my Bull Sprig that I retrieved myself from out there in the ice. And it was so cold that it still had a piece of ice stuck to him as I cradled, yes, that is correct, I cradled that bird back to the pit when we quit early to let the ducks back in for the end of the season hunt I looked forward to the next day - Sunday, January 20. And as we took pictures and exchanged pleasantries and reviewed the time together, all I could do was see that series of mental pictures in my mind over and over again of that Bull Sprig as he cupped in front of me, the shot hitting him and how he laid there in the icy water not moving. It was a great feeling and one that will live with me forever I hope. Where I spent time with a master call maker, caller, waterfowler and a new inductee to duck hunting in a little place outside Olive Branch. A place that a decade before was reeling from the losses of absent Canada geese but has now established itself as a duck hunting Mecca for people who are experienced and those who are not. It has been a season of new and old for me. I have met and hunted with a lot of new people at new places but I have also hunted old places with old friends and one Heck of a mix of old and new. And while my primary mission this trip had been to close out the season with Greg duck hunting I had accomplished so much more!
POSTSCRIPT
We made it back to the club house where I was introduced to not only Don Masterson, Greg’s Father, but a whole bunch of people who live and work down there. The libations began and dinner was soon being served after we were joined by others including Ko-Ko’s owners who were nice enough to bring me a bottle of Seagram’s Seven I ordered so we wouldn’t run out when Greg’s half-gallon went empty. The menu was an excellent Italian Beef made from deer meat, garnish, chips and some fabulous baked beans as provided by Herman’s wife.
It was quite the group but one thing ran true through them, they were either from the Olive Branch area or were passionate waterfowlers. And even before people had finished dinner, the table was cleared for a friendly game of poker where no one tried to screw one another or backbite anyone but people enjoying each other’s company and having a good time. Not much was spent as the poker stakes were kept to $5 or $10 and the food prepared or provided by everyone I helped with the Seagram’s and Coke.
And as we relaxed and savored the day - and even the season - stories were told and shared amongst ourselves. Stories about each other and of those who are no longer with us. No loud voices raised in anger or intimidation, just good people having a good time. And as the hour grew late and the alcohol was definitely warming our cockles, Greg, Kyle and I decided to get some more ice from Ko-Ko’s. Kyle drove as I was already in no shape to be behind the wheel and we decided to have another drink or two there. For a Saturday night it wasn’t too crowded and that was okay with me since we could get to know each other better and continue to savor life in general. As I learned that Greg was quite the Babe Magnet, we were soon joined by an attractive woman, but we then decided to follow her to another bar called Decoy’s.
Now this place was hopping but here I was still in my hunting clothes - with sweat pants instead of jeans. Yet, I didn’t seem to care and never even thought of it till now. And as the drinks continued to arrive at the table from where I was not sure.
We made it back to the club house where I was introduced to not only Don Masterson, Greg’s Father, but a whole bunch of people who live and work down there. The libations began and dinner was soon being served after we were joined by others including Ko-Ko’s owners who were nice enough to bring me a bottle of Seagram’s Seven I ordered so we wouldn’t run out when Greg’s half-gallon went empty. The menu was an excellent Italian Beef made from deer meat, garnish, chips and some fabulous baked beans as provided by Herman’s wife.
It was quite the group but one thing ran true through them, they were either from the Olive Branch area or were passionate waterfowlers. And even before people had finished dinner, the table was cleared for a friendly game of poker where no one tried to screw one another or backbite anyone but people enjoying each other’s company and having a good time. Not much was spent as the poker stakes were kept to $5 or $10 and the food prepared or provided by everyone I helped with the Seagram’s and Coke.
And as we relaxed and savored the day - and even the season - stories were told and shared amongst ourselves. Stories about each other and of those who are no longer with us. No loud voices raised in anger or intimidation, just good people having a good time. And as the hour grew late and the alcohol was definitely warming our cockles, Greg, Kyle and I decided to get some more ice from Ko-Ko’s. Kyle drove as I was already in no shape to be behind the wheel and we decided to have another drink or two there. For a Saturday night it wasn’t too crowded and that was okay with me since we could get to know each other better and continue to savor life in general. As I learned that Greg was quite the Babe Magnet, we were soon joined by an attractive woman, but we then decided to follow her to another bar called Decoy’s.
Now this place was hopping but here I was still in my hunting clothes - with sweat pants instead of jeans. Yet, I didn’t seem to care and never even thought of it till now. And as the drinks continued to arrive at the table from where I was not sure.
I could afford as I had
not brought but $40 since I came to hunt and never thought about partying and
it was almost gone. I continued to melt
into the woodwork or whatever. And even though there wasn’t a McDonald’s there,
I seem to recall going outside to the porch and watering the rails without a
care in the world several times before someone decided to show me they had
indoor plumbing and then drive back to the clubhouse with the ice we went for
hours before.
As Kyle was driving, I took the backseat and almost sobered up on the way back when he hit 110 MPH on some blacktop. Yes, he was Mario Andretti in his Volkswagen whatever and the only thought I had was please God, keep the deer away!
Things get hazy here as I knew we didn’t have to go out hunting till around 10 or 11 AM that morning and I knew I was staying here and not at a hotel in the Cape or locally, it is just that I am not sure what all went on between Le Mans and the bed I found myself fully-clothed right there in the clubhouse and all alone. I do recall the one married couple (Billy and Amy) deciding to come to bed too and how worried I was when he informed his wife how he was going to ravage her. Why? I thought they were going to use the bed I was in!!! Luckily they went one bed over and as I listened for the sound of clothes being ripped off one another and the tell-tale screams of ecstasy or pain, I was greeted almost immediately with the loud snoring of someone with a built-in amplifier! I threw myself out of bed, walked outside barefooted in the 10 degree night air and brought my electric box fan inside so I could try and block the sounds of Paul Bunyan sawing logs two-foot away.
The next thing I knew it was just before 7 AM and sunlight was creeping through the windows. So much light! And while I was prone, my head did not hurt but my bladder was full and every now and then you heard someone in the other rooms. Finally, someone made breakfast which was bacon, eggs, biscuits and gravy so I had to get up for a while at least. But as soon as I was done, we all retired to our respective sleeping areas.
Now I kept waiting on someone to roust me and the others to go hunting and when Dave showed up I heard Greg send him out with ___, so I wasn’t in a hurry since I knew deep down I was going to regret last night. So, I would get up for a few minutes and then back to bed when I saw Greg and Kyle sacked out. And when Kyle went outside to barf, I knew I had been out with giants but we were all simply human at heart. And I have to tell you, eating bacon and gravy when you are hung-over are not two items I would recommend. Yes, they were great going down but mixed with the “stuff” fermenting in my digestive track, I continued to burp and feel like, well, you know, all day long.
And around 2 PM, Kyle decided to head back to Paducah where he will most likely be babied by one of the women who sent him erotic text messages complete with pictures the night before but he wanted to drive around Horseshoe first so I went along. Big mistake! Up until now my head and body had been lulled into believing it was going to be alright - WRONG!!! For as soon as we arrived at the area we had hunted the afternoon before and now saw that all had frozen over Dan and his guide had only killed one Green Wing teal so far and they had been out three hours it all started to rock and roll. The 800 MG of Ibuprofen was having no impact and I openly wished we had a bottle of Oxygen on hand like what we used in the USAF to clear the cobwebs. However, as we drove through the area and along the Horseshoe Lake Refuge, we saw ducks and geese all over just resting among the cypress or out in the fields. We even saw a number of cripples and dead ones with one Snow taking off right beside the truck that I probably could have caught it if I had tried!
As we drove through the area I reflected on the people I had spent time with over the last couple of days and all that we had talked about, places we went and things that we did…at least what I could remember. It had been another nostalgic trip down memory lane and one that opened new doors for me and maybe those I met. I watched a Father and son enjoy their company and of their friends. I saw more ducks that I can recall all season from an area that I only looked for geese from during a past life. And while I am sure I talked too much, I also listened. I listened to people, nature and to life as lived in Southern Illinois. A place so removed from the hustle and bustle of Springfield, Chicago and St. Louis, and even places like Mt. Vernon, Vandalia and Peoria where people can live and enjoy life even when it throws them curveballs, sliders and even beaners. That maintains its own culture but still lets others inside if not forever but at least for a taste that will bring most of us back again and again. Good people. Good times. Great opportunities!
Anyway, Kyle dropped me off and after talking with Greg, and I decided to hit the road as neither of us was in any shape to go out there. And so for us the season ended a day early and for a change, which was more than alright with me! After all, how could I top my Bull Sprig! Well, there is that Bull Can I am after too!
As Kyle was driving, I took the backseat and almost sobered up on the way back when he hit 110 MPH on some blacktop. Yes, he was Mario Andretti in his Volkswagen whatever and the only thought I had was please God, keep the deer away!
Things get hazy here as I knew we didn’t have to go out hunting till around 10 or 11 AM that morning and I knew I was staying here and not at a hotel in the Cape or locally, it is just that I am not sure what all went on between Le Mans and the bed I found myself fully-clothed right there in the clubhouse and all alone. I do recall the one married couple (Billy and Amy) deciding to come to bed too and how worried I was when he informed his wife how he was going to ravage her. Why? I thought they were going to use the bed I was in!!! Luckily they went one bed over and as I listened for the sound of clothes being ripped off one another and the tell-tale screams of ecstasy or pain, I was greeted almost immediately with the loud snoring of someone with a built-in amplifier! I threw myself out of bed, walked outside barefooted in the 10 degree night air and brought my electric box fan inside so I could try and block the sounds of Paul Bunyan sawing logs two-foot away.
The next thing I knew it was just before 7 AM and sunlight was creeping through the windows. So much light! And while I was prone, my head did not hurt but my bladder was full and every now and then you heard someone in the other rooms. Finally, someone made breakfast which was bacon, eggs, biscuits and gravy so I had to get up for a while at least. But as soon as I was done, we all retired to our respective sleeping areas.
Now I kept waiting on someone to roust me and the others to go hunting and when Dave showed up I heard Greg send him out with ___, so I wasn’t in a hurry since I knew deep down I was going to regret last night. So, I would get up for a few minutes and then back to bed when I saw Greg and Kyle sacked out. And when Kyle went outside to barf, I knew I had been out with giants but we were all simply human at heart. And I have to tell you, eating bacon and gravy when you are hung-over are not two items I would recommend. Yes, they were great going down but mixed with the “stuff” fermenting in my digestive track, I continued to burp and feel like, well, you know, all day long.
And around 2 PM, Kyle decided to head back to Paducah where he will most likely be babied by one of the women who sent him erotic text messages complete with pictures the night before but he wanted to drive around Horseshoe first so I went along. Big mistake! Up until now my head and body had been lulled into believing it was going to be alright - WRONG!!! For as soon as we arrived at the area we had hunted the afternoon before and now saw that all had frozen over Dan and his guide had only killed one Green Wing teal so far and they had been out three hours it all started to rock and roll. The 800 MG of Ibuprofen was having no impact and I openly wished we had a bottle of Oxygen on hand like what we used in the USAF to clear the cobwebs. However, as we drove through the area and along the Horseshoe Lake Refuge, we saw ducks and geese all over just resting among the cypress or out in the fields. We even saw a number of cripples and dead ones with one Snow taking off right beside the truck that I probably could have caught it if I had tried!
As we drove through the area I reflected on the people I had spent time with over the last couple of days and all that we had talked about, places we went and things that we did…at least what I could remember. It had been another nostalgic trip down memory lane and one that opened new doors for me and maybe those I met. I watched a Father and son enjoy their company and of their friends. I saw more ducks that I can recall all season from an area that I only looked for geese from during a past life. And while I am sure I talked too much, I also listened. I listened to people, nature and to life as lived in Southern Illinois. A place so removed from the hustle and bustle of Springfield, Chicago and St. Louis, and even places like Mt. Vernon, Vandalia and Peoria where people can live and enjoy life even when it throws them curveballs, sliders and even beaners. That maintains its own culture but still lets others inside if not forever but at least for a taste that will bring most of us back again and again. Good people. Good times. Great opportunities!
Anyway, Kyle dropped me off and after talking with Greg, and I decided to hit the road as neither of us was in any shape to go out there. And so for us the season ended a day early and for a change, which was more than alright with me! After all, how could I top my Bull Sprig! Well, there is that Bull Can I am after too!
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