Finally, a Few Ducks

Not many hunts for me this year . . . but you've got be pretty darn thankful for the ones you get.

There were a few woodies from what I call the "wood duck season," the short five day season in October. A hunt with some family friends near the Cape Fear wound up bird-less . . . and the same result for several other hunts.

Towards the end of the season, though, my buddy Cas Prewitt had a spot in the blind up in Tyrell County. Up I went, from Wilmington. Too, it was great to see Clyde Firman and Andy Clements, two men who made hunting possible up at boarding school at Woodberry Forest---one of the few schools I know of where you can bring a shotgun to school and hunt on campus.

And, finally, that weekend in Tyrell County, there were a few ducks.

It's always a good sign when you sneak into the pond in the morning dark, amidst the quacking of mallards, the peeping of teal, and all the other cacophony of calls of other puddle and diving ducks.

It's quite a thing, after barely shooting any ducks all season, to pass up what could've been a limit of ringnecks within the first few minutes . . . but just watching in pure wonder at all the ducks flying over and around the pit blind . . . awestruck by the sound of jet-like wings. We could've been happy not picking up the guns, just simply watching the birds do their thing.

But, of course, we did come here to shoot a few birds. And that we did.

It's always nice when one of the guys at the duck camp is a real chef.

As always, it was a weekend of good eating and good times with good guys.

Comments

Chunkin' Bait

If you've ever stumbled across any of my words online, you've probably noticed that I'm more of a fly guy. I just love that feeling of propelling fly line through the air with the rod, feeling the bend and strength of the rod as it loads and projects the line towards your casting target. But, occasionally, there's a time to chunk some bait. The good news was we didn't have to leave Edenton too early. The bite hadn't started until 9:30 in the morning or so, my buddy said. So, thankfully, no need to wake up at the crack of dawn to make the hour or so drive to Swan Quarter. The goal was to catch a few drum, and maybe even invite a few to dinner. It wasn't "old drum" time of late summer, but there were still some big ones out there. We launched Johny's Jones Brothers Cape Fisherman, idled down the canal, and jumped on a plane to get over the bar and shoaling right outside the canal. We ran out, not too far, fishing little cov...

A Little Do-It-Yourself Boat Painting

"Hard hard can it be?" After hours of YouTube videos, I thought I had this whole boat painting thing figured out. My Jones Brothers skiff was looking a bit faded. The 20+ year old cream/off-white gel coat was in need of some major cutting and buffing, and there were some cracks and gouges and an errant screw hole for a swim ladder only filled in with silicon sealant. Just the conditioning and buffing would be a major undertaking. On top of that my ablative bottom paint, that wears off on its own, that I'd done myself, was starting to look rough. Then, I'd stumbled across a picture on Facebook, of someone who'd painted the same hull as mine with the Alexseal brand topside paint with their "roll" additive, which smooths out the paint after rolling it onto a surface. I was mesmerized with the pictures online, drawn to doom scrolling online forums like Hull Truth, and others. It looked too good to be true. As anyone who...

Fall in the Foothills---River Bass on the Fly

It was fall in the foothills. It was dry and clear and the sweet-cool of the morning refreshed you. Cool, but not cold. A good fall day. I'd loaded up the canoe from the coast and headed west to the in-laws' place, on the banks of the Yadkin River, outside of Winston-Salem. There's something about a smallmouth bass on a fly rod. Maybe it's the strength of the fish, the strength of their pull against the current. Or maybe it's because they're the fish that really taught me about fly fishing. My original fly fishing quarry. In all honesty, smallmouth caught me, not the other way around, back on the banks of Rapidan River in Virginia. I've been hooked ever since. I met a man once, while trout fishing in the mountains, who claimed the Yadkin held the best smallie fishing in North Carolina. Better than the New River, even the French Broad. Maybe not in numbers, but in size. I'll be honest, I...

The Tar Heel Outdoorsman

Search This Blog