Might be nice to get this season wrap-up wrapped up before next season gets here...
Hunters:The passing of Supreme Court Justice Scalia was a sad reminder of one of my job's greatest blessings: few places are as apt as a duck blind to bring folks from such diverse walks of life together. And where but a hunting camp could a fellow such as he get to enjoy being "one of the guys" riding a tailgate (while the coyote rode in the cab)?
Notice of the passing of another member of our camp's extended family also came this season, when Fob James (on the left) brought word that his long time friend and near brother, despite their shared last name being only coincidence, David James (on the right), was gone:
Never mind that Fob was once Governor of their home state, Alabama, and that David may have actually wielded the greater power of the two, it was the camaraderie they shared that made them near instant favorites in my blind. I'm old enough to have doted on the easy dialog between Bing Crosby and Phil Harris while they shared hunts on the long gone American Sportsman TV series and got to relive that pleasure when Fob and David were in my blind. They called each other "Mr. Jones" or "Jonsey" and listening to their easy banter would have warmed the coldest SOB from the inside out. Just great guys making the very best of the bond between them - as should always be the case in a blind.
On a happier note, while there were a few notable AWOLs, the circumstances I'm aware of were not tragic ones, and most of the usual suspects were on hand. There were far too many grand reunions to note without fear of leaving important ones out, so I'll just say God bless the lot of them for helping to make even this slow season great fun. And since I can't brag on my own crumby grandsons, who abandoned me for the likes of girls and deer, I'll brag on the big cheese's great-grandson, Cole, who I got to help take his first teal and speck at the ripe old age of seven last year and finally get his first greenhead this Fall:
Would also like to put in a plug for a couple new friends made this season who demonstrated absolute genius for getting the utmost effort out of a guide, when before we'd done much of anything, Adrian (on the right) said, "In case I forget to tell you later, I want you to know I've already had a ball." which his buddy, Mark, seconded:
Was a wonderful reminder that most folks bring the quality of their hunts with them.
Guns: This has turned out to he a little used heading, originally intended to track makes and models through the blind. Seems, however, that I'm too lazy or preoccupied to go to that trouble and use it only to note unusual pieces. Of which I recall little this season, other than a very special Model 12 16ga and noting that double guns seem increasingly rare. The later of which is a good thing from the blind cover's standpoint.
Malfunctions: Was the year of the boogered A-5. The A-5's so-said reliability has long appeared myth to me, but it seemed they were all hiccuping this season.
Dog(s): The first year I hunted the mudhole, we tried hunting it over a number of guest dogs with invariably bad result that, best case, saw nary a one of them willing to leave the dog stand by hunt's end and, worst case, found me struggling to free the Go-Devil from the black dirt flotant I'd rescued a guest Lab from. Since that experience, I've made it my practice to advise those who want to hunt over their own dogs to watch mine for a morning before deciding whether to try theirs. And for the eight seasons between that and this, all who've seen what's required have opted to either leave Pup at camp or hunt more guest dog friendly blinds. This season I gave in to a long time friend and corporate member's plea that I hunt an import client's dog without my now standard stipulation - and sorely regretted it. The "great" Lab that was "an old hand at marsh hunting" demonstrated neither that, thankfully super, morning, and not only turned what should have been a quick hunt into a long one but
flattened 3/4s of the blind's cover in the process. It ain't that some, if not many, guest dogs couldn't adapt and learn the drill with time and direction, but that will be enough of that.
As for my own paragons, the new guy, Marsh (aka: the bug), was not remotely ready to take on the task of commercial hunting, as his last two predecessors had managed at his age. How blame might be divvied between lack of opportunity and aptitude I can't say, but he was where he was, which was neither marking or handling well, though the former saw some gains when I got him out on play hunts. Certainly couldn't fault his desire:
Now nine and deaf as a stump, "the old dog," Peake (aka: the coyote) is still very much "the big dog" at our house and the mudhole. Peake's deafness resulted in frustration when he couldn't be signaled to pass a dead bird for a more distant one or to stop and look for redirection. But his marking is still spooky good, and he's fallen into the habit of popping fairly often for further instruction on blinds when they're not working out. Still a very capable hand who knows his marsh and where cripples are apt to turn up better than I. Which didn't, however, mitigate worry over his chasing wing-tipped birds to unseasonably warm open waters where large gators might take dangerous interest in him. Or into distant, unfamiliar corners of the marsh where he might get turned around and be unable to hear my recovery efforts. We had enough of each to spur plenty of internal debate over whether to take the coyote or take our loses without him, the upshot being my not sending him on what I took to be particularly hazardous missions but also allowing him to continue to work as long as he's enjoying it. In truth we crossed that line later in the season:
but he was gator-safe by then, and the bug will be ready to spell him next go-round. Even if it were to prove his final retrieve at the mudhole, his last of this season would be fitting tribute, having led to and ended with a wing-broken speck run down and captured in open water well south of our blind:
(TO BE CONTINUED)