A memorable Jump/My First Cinnamon
Posted: Thu Jul 24, 2014 11:17 pmIt had been a shitty couple of weeks by a highschoolers standards. Broke up with a long time girlfriend, lost a wrestling match I was to win on paper, re-broke broken nose in said match. I had only been hunting ducks on my own for about a year at this point and I clearly remember to this day my waterfowling mentor (my best friends father) remarking on the beauty of the drake cinnamon teal that his son had taken on my very first duck hunt. "I have been hunting ducks for 30 years and never got one like that".
We had hunted an afternoon at a leased blind payed for by a friends father. It just so happened to be in the sweet spot of our little corner of Oregon's Mid Willamette Valley. Unfortunately, for the three of us, the hunt had yielded a whopping 3 buffleheads.
We had a string of settling ponds and dairy sumps we jumped on a regular basis in order to bolster our usually lacking game straps. On this particular occasion we only had time to hit one prior to the end of legal shooting time. We planned our attack with either of the 3 of us on opposite ends of the semi-rectangular pond and myself covering the long stretch of water in the middle. The ultra wary flock of widgeons which were occupying the pond had heard our approach and split into 2 groups. Each of which had swam to opposite ends of the pond, allowing my companions easy shots of which they took advantage. Dropping 4 birds, 3 drakes and 1 hen between them. I had crested the berm around the pond and hastily spent 2 of my 3 shells on widgeons considerably outside of my minimal range of accuracy. while my buddies hooted and hollered in triumph and waded out the mere 5-10 feet to retrieve their birds, I kicked the dirt in frustration at my lack of what is considered "success" at this early stage in a hunters endeavor.
Whilst wallowing in my perceived "failure" I caught a glimpse of a small darting duck shape overhead. I instinctively shouldered and fired my trusty (rusty) 870 and was somewhat amazed to watch a bird fall from the sky, splashing dead center of the pond. I knew immediately from the rust colored breast feathers and single crimson eye staring at me that I had taken a beautiful Drake Cinnamon teal in his full and glorious plumage.
The day was not yet won. Being young hunters on a shoestring budget we were without boat or dog and the center of the pond was well over the chest waders of my then dimmunitive height. No way I was letting this bird go. Now way was I waiting for it to blow nearer to an edge on this windless day in this currentless pond. excitement and adrenaline had long since taken over and I was down to my skivvies on a cloudy cool day in mid November and making the short swim/deep wade to my prize. I have the most vivid memory of this hunt in my mind to this day and on the days I feel myself lacking motivation to rise out of bed in the pre-dawn to go hunt some ducks, I recall the sheer excitement I felt and rise with vigor. Forever chasing that feeling.
We had hunted an afternoon at a leased blind payed for by a friends father. It just so happened to be in the sweet spot of our little corner of Oregon's Mid Willamette Valley. Unfortunately, for the three of us, the hunt had yielded a whopping 3 buffleheads.
We had a string of settling ponds and dairy sumps we jumped on a regular basis in order to bolster our usually lacking game straps. On this particular occasion we only had time to hit one prior to the end of legal shooting time. We planned our attack with either of the 3 of us on opposite ends of the semi-rectangular pond and myself covering the long stretch of water in the middle. The ultra wary flock of widgeons which were occupying the pond had heard our approach and split into 2 groups. Each of which had swam to opposite ends of the pond, allowing my companions easy shots of which they took advantage. Dropping 4 birds, 3 drakes and 1 hen between them. I had crested the berm around the pond and hastily spent 2 of my 3 shells on widgeons considerably outside of my minimal range of accuracy. while my buddies hooted and hollered in triumph and waded out the mere 5-10 feet to retrieve their birds, I kicked the dirt in frustration at my lack of what is considered "success" at this early stage in a hunters endeavor.
Whilst wallowing in my perceived "failure" I caught a glimpse of a small darting duck shape overhead. I instinctively shouldered and fired my trusty (rusty) 870 and was somewhat amazed to watch a bird fall from the sky, splashing dead center of the pond. I knew immediately from the rust colored breast feathers and single crimson eye staring at me that I had taken a beautiful Drake Cinnamon teal in his full and glorious plumage.
The day was not yet won. Being young hunters on a shoestring budget we were without boat or dog and the center of the pond was well over the chest waders of my then dimmunitive height. No way I was letting this bird go. Now way was I waiting for it to blow nearer to an edge on this windless day in this currentless pond. excitement and adrenaline had long since taken over and I was down to my skivvies on a cloudy cool day in mid November and making the short swim/deep wade to my prize. I have the most vivid memory of this hunt in my mind to this day and on the days I feel myself lacking motivation to rise out of bed in the pre-dawn to go hunt some ducks, I recall the sheer excitement I felt and rise with vigor. Forever chasing that feeling.
