Journey

... 34 quacks, all Mallard, mostly Green. I fired on 34, and brought home 34. Actually I missed one Green cold, but dumped the hen trailing him. Two other Greens I also missed cold, but on two other occasions I got two in one shot.

1. First, that, yes, `it rains on the good and the bad, the just and the unjust'. (Someone else's words, not mine.) By that I mean this - I used to think that if I was good - I could expect good hunting ... or ... if I was `bad' - I could expect `bad'. Stated differently - good hunting experiences would be the result of me being a good person. But what I found is that being good basically got me nothing. Because the universe we live in doesn't give based on good, or bad, ... but gives out freely. And, actually, that is a good thing, because, I have come to understand that, gulp, I am not a good person at all. I may try to be good - but, whoa, I still have huge faults and deficiencies. But my Heavenly Father still lavishes me with wonderful blessings and hunting experiences.

Maybe I can say it this way: though perhaps we (as people) are moral (or immoral) - the natural universe is not.

2. To follow the magic. Yes. In a way it's related to Item 1. I am learning to `tune in' as I go out into the field. I imagine ducks on the creek around the next bend, and then as I carefully look - there they are! ( ... just as imagined). I think of the best possible outcome to a situation, and (sometimes, not always) ... it unfolds! ( ... just as imagined). I find that the natural universe is a responsive universe. (Maybe `interactive' would be appropriate.) You see - if my mind is cluttered with it all depending on me ...(my skill, my tactics, my doing everything just right, or being in the right spot) ... then there is a lot that can still go wrong. But if I accept my place in a universe much larger than myself - one that - if I look for it - responds to my wishes, desires, and love for the game - I become a beneficiary, almost a spectator, of what unfolds in front of me. It's wonderful - I call it magic.

3. A hunting experience is enjoyed in the mind. Or not. In fact, one hunting trip I went on this fall was only (enjoyed) in the mind. In the real it just didn't come together. One hunting buddy had to bail for medical reasons, and another couldn't get away. It was a dream hunt indeed - I had it so rehearsed ahead of time in my mind. I could see and feel myself executing the various stages of the hunt. I laid in bed at night dreaming about it ... unfolding in front of me. Don't get me wrong - I was really crushed for several days when it slipped away. But - if you can grasp this - I did go on that hunt (in my mind).

(And it ended up costing way less money and was far less dangerous.)

I went on another trip this fall - a dream hunt, of sorts, and though I really was there (physically) - it was much less enjoyed. I laid in my sleeping bag dreaming of being back home. So, the key to a joyous hunting experience - is to learn to enjoy (the hunt, or the not hunt). One day a time. And this is important as I am a father and husband and engineer and teacher and other stuff and there is a lot of other stuff going on.

And so when it works out - I grab my gun and hunt. And when it doesn't - it doesn't. I may have hunted less this fall - but it's OK - because, though not perfect - it has been magical. My wife and children think I still hunt a lot (spelled t-o-o m-u-c-h) ... which I can't understand - until it's been about 24 hours since I shot something - I realize my addiction - and must slip outside.

Dropped children at school and headed out. Glassed the Creek - nothin'.

Parked at the Frontier. A pair busted me at the first bend upstream of the road. Could have taken a long shot - but didn't want to. There would be more. Came up on the `Good bank'. Five or six mallards got up, close. Everything seemed to move in slow motion ... lots of clothes, cold, wind, etc. Busted a green with the first shot, but spent casing jammed. A late-leaving hen got up, cleared the hull, dumped her.

Both birds were on the opposite bank, so I went back to the bridge at the road crossing (where I was parked). I Left my gun in the rig as both birds appeared to be down hard, but as I proceeded up the other side thought about the complication that could ensue if still alive.

Collected the green - but the hen was very much alive. Managed to block her escape to the creek and scoop her up.

These were my last two Bismuth `duck' rounds.

I had been thinking about trying head shots on these quacks on good, close stalks. Jared and I went out in the morning looking for turkey. Didn't see any, though `the place with all the cows' looked good, and we got good perm. After Jared dropped me off back at home I didn't like the fact that I hadn't killed anything - so I headed out for the area [deleted] of town. Someone was set up on the Flats earlier, and there were a lot of birds to the west, so I decided the Frontier.

I snuck up on a good stretch, and saw green. Two greens. I tried the head shot thing. I was taken back by the blast (recoil), but once composure was somewhat regained I pulled up on a green flying straight out - and dumped him. Then I pulled up on a green flying out right, and dumped him. Quite an overall glob of birds got up (30+?).

My first shot got two birds - a green and a hen. The hen was motionless but the green was walking about - so I gave him another blast. Interestingly, neither bird seemed to have pellet penetration from the first shot. Perhaps the blast was so close it came more as a club than as with individual pellets.

Also, the third green was banded, also from Alberta.

Snow on the ground and below freezing. Noisy. Checked out the Flats. Saw what looked like the tail of a Green. Backed up, crossed, and made the stalk. At about 75 yards out I shed the shoes and socks.

By the time I got up to the creek - the advantage gained by stealth was being lost by cold and pain. Birds flushed. I got one Green. Crippled - had to go after him in bare feet.

Dropped Jackie and Chad off ... and headed out to check the Creek. Saw some ripples from the road crossing, went up to my place to park, put on my boots, loaded up, etc. There were a couple roos along the road. I casually went after them. Law says that you cannot shoot from the road. So, I got off the road, and embankment, and into the field. They busted out over the field - so it would have been a legal shot, but it was toward houses, and a bit far, so I didn't shoot.

Creek - I decided to hit straight on where I saw the ripples. Came up on and ... ripple-less. Which means that the ripples I saw earlier were indeed (duck) ripples (and not hydraulic ripples). So, the birds must be right in front of me. They get up - a pair. The green goes right and hen left and I dump the green. At the shot a dozen or so more get up another hundred or so yards up the creek.

Fair number of birds in the area. Part of me wanted to pack it up and go back into town. But another part suggested that there was some magic ahead, on up past [Deleted]'s. (Maybe I'll call it the `Northern Frontier'. Nah.) `Gotta get back and go to work'. No, ... `even though it will take some more time, and even though it's muddy, and even though that stretch has been `dry' for the past year or so ... follow (believe in) the magic.

So I drove on over. I had glassed the area earlier, and thought maybe I had kinda seen something, but no.

But then the wonderful thing happened ... about twenty birds got up and started looking for a (slightly different) place to land. Maybe they heard me close my car door, or drive up, or something. But they flew around the area, finding it `difficult' to actually come back in (the way they usually do ... finding it difficult).

And it was beautiful indeed, the sun behind me ... the chestnut-colored breasts of the greenheads boasting their elegance as they would come around, wings set, to try and get in.

And normally they would not ... but good things come to if you believe - so I believed - yeah, baby, come on in. And, after eight or nine or so circles, they did; ... they came around one last time, wings set, and settled in, right from where they had taken off from.

I made the approach. I have the sun at my back - perfect. I know exactly where they are. Perfect. They might swim up or down - but in a group that large - I should come into at least some of them fairly direct.

I contemplate shedding my boots. But from the field edge it will be a long, muddy approach - so I keep them on. They are my softer boots - I will try and walk softly.

I have the wind at my back, also. Which is not so good. Will my theory hold? (That they can smell.)

Now I am at 40 yards. I realize I still have my gloves on - so I shed them. I am in range for a long shot - but I want better.

I want to get murderously close. But though we cannot see each other - they certainly can now smell me.

8/27/2007 ... filled a dep deer tag ... 28 miles ... (TOO FAR TO DRIVE TO HUNT DEER.)

May 8 ... went out east of [deleted] ... Gobblers all around, but couldn't suck any in.

May 4 ... after work went out and laid down under a tree. No turkey walked by, but a deer close. Saw a couple moose in the course of things, and a turkey far. It was a beautiful afternoon.

... Climb, 3/3 ... solo, Skunk Route, 38 minutes. New best. I think I can do 37, or less, but I will probably have to lose some weight first.

Climb of 27 Jan. ... here ( ... applic. of Blue Sky Theory and first climb of the 2007 PC season)