October 12, 2014
MY STORY #1.
During the winter of my 13th year (1950 ish) I had invited a friend from school and his father to accompany me on a duck hunt. Now, here we were in my all-time favorite duck blind. They were sitting in back sipping coffee and I was on Look-Out. My modest blind was constructed on a little island, a small patch of marsh scarcely the size of a school bus, and situated about 200 yards off shore in Ellis Bay. Ellis Bay is a body of water roughly 1 mile in depth and 2 miles in width situated at the confluence of two rivers and encompassed by thousands of acres of salt marsh. Not a single dwelling in sight and a rare mecca for wildlife (especially waterfowl). There are many such places in the CHESAPEAKE BAY TIDEWATER AREA so being overrun with other hunters is, or rather was not the case in those days. We had the whole bay entirely to ourselves. From this same little duck blind I have seen Big (orange footed Canadian) Black ducks raft up by the hundreds feeding in the shallows, and Blue Bills (Greater & Lesser sculp), Red Heads, Buffle Heads, Golden Eye, Mallards, Canvasbacks, Canada Geese and large flocks of just about any other bird in the Atlantic Flyway. It was truly a Magical Place.
The morning was cold but not bitter as is often the case on big water. There was a light breeze coming over the back of the blind and down my neck. Just enough to sharpen the senses, move the decoys, and heighten the wafting aroma of coffee to an olfactory delight. The sky was leaden grey and snow was falling. In the distance I could see birds moving about looking for a niche to rest, feed and weather the approaching storm. I suddenly became aware of whistling wings, but could not see the birds. I slowly looked up and there, barely visible through the falling snow was a large flock of Canvasback ducks. A good guess would be somewhere between one and two hundred birds moving fast and away from our back. I kept my movements slow and watched them until they were just about out of sight and almost out of mind. When to my amazement they split into two flocks and did an about face passing high and to the right and left of my blind. They flew away from us and straight across the bay. Just two clouds of dots on a white background. Then as unexpected as before they merged back into a single large flock and came straight at us. Before my guests could put their coffee down and grab their guns the birds were all over us. If we had nets we could have scooped them from the air like butterflies. The sounds of wings beating air, birds landing in the water, the undulating colors, the snow. It was surreal and one of the most unforgettable experiences of my life. We were all overcome with the beauty and excitement of the moment. I don’t know who fired first, but the shock brought us all to full battle status. The mind switched off and reflexes came front and center. It was pandemonium. After nine blasts from twelve gage shotguns, ONLY five birds were down. In our excitement we had not focused on a single target, but shot the flock. NOT GOOD. The vast majority of birds had vanished into the safety of the snowy clouds, but the mates of the downed birds were circling, trying to coax their partner back into the sky. A Big Bull Canvasback, proud, defiant, and mortally wounded was joined by his mate. The hen with no regard for her safety remained with her mate until he passed. This whole scenario played out in a very short time.
I do not know what private thoughts my companions had relative to this scene, but I will never forget. Every living thing regardless of its order has a purpose and every living thing has worth. Love and respect should never be denied. As hunters we have an obligation to be humane and honorable.