Wet Weather Musings

Yesterday was cold, wet, and nasty in my little part of the world. As I was driving home, the weather got me to thinking back to similar days in my childhood, spent wishing I were a bit more warm, and a bit more dry. It was the cold, gray, slow-rain type of day that always reminds me of duck hunting.

Now, I grew up on the poorer end of the middle class scale, and when me and the old man went duck hunting (or any kind of hunting, for that matter) we did it on the cheap. Now out of the types of game I've hunted in my life, none seem to claim as much time and money as duck hunting. I spent many an hour of my childhood poring over hunting catalogs making a mental wish list of all the accoutrement's that I wanted for duck hunting. Of course, if I had gotten all of said gear, I wouldn't be able to move through a swamp bottom without fear of sinking under the weight, but that doesn't seem to slow the 16 year old mind much.

Anyway, I digress... The day that I came to think about due to the weather was a cold, wet nasty day in December, about 2000 or 2001. I had never been duck hunting before, and a few weeks ago, dad got to reminiscing about childhood duck hunts. I asked him to take me duck hunting, and he said he would, as soon as the weather got right. I slunk into the house after a tortuously long day in school, wanting nothing more than to drop onto the couch and forget about the rigors of algebra.

Pop looked at me and wrinkled his brow. "Wanna go shoot some ducks?"

I think it took all of about 3 seconds for me to get changed into camo and grab my boots, shotgun, and a hand full of shells.

Dad pulled on a sweater against the chill.

"You gonna wear THAT, dad?"

He considered the fire-engine red sweater. "What? I'm don't wanna get cold."

I knew we weren't going to get a single thing with dad dressed like that, but I wanted to go hunting, so I went along with it, just for fun.

We hunkered down against the wood line and waited as the temperature dropped and a front rolled in. We shot two ducks that day. I like to think I shot a duck, I really do. I emptied my gun at the sky, at any rate. When we walked over to pick up the ducks, Dad unloaded 1 shell.

"That's it. That'll be the only flight tonight. Unload and we'll walk home."

I hurriedly unloaded the 2 shells I had just loaded.

"I got one, dad!"

He chuckled. Yeah, boy, looks like.


Dad was a good shot.

But I've thought about that day many times. Dad knew another front was coming through, and made sure we were out there a half hour before it reached us. He also knew that the treeline would hide that bright red sweater he was wearing. And, he knew that there was a slough about a hundred yards from our treeline that small flocks sometimes would roost in if they were pushed in by rain.

I'll take hunting advice from a man feeding his family, who knows the land and the local weather patterns over the advice of one of those guys on the Outdoor Life Network any day of the week.