Month: November 2020

Bullet proof. Describes a lot of things that I have faced the last few days. Some of the pheasants I shot at during our annual trip to South Dakota and some mallards I feebly pointed my gun at in ND a few weeks before that.

I found out fast that bullet proof was for the birds. (Pheasants and Mallards) Not me.

On the way back from South Dakota riding with my lifelong friend and hunting partner Brian Johnson, I noticed a diminishing sense of smell. Followed quickly by the semi loss of taste as we broke into the cookie bags my wife and Brian’s gal Julie made for us. A small sense of panic set in and I put it off to congestion and fatigue. It had been a long week of hard hunting, I was just tired. I convinced myself. I couldn’t wait for a home cooked meal.

I was not disappointed a steak dinner was ready and waiting when I arrived home. However, I was disappointed in that all I could sense was texture. The next morning was spent looking for Covid 19 test sites.

South Dakota was fun. A lot like the wild west, no masks, no distance, no cares. The wild west is all fun and games until someone get shot. I took the bullet. Whether it came from SD or a gathering before I left. The result was the same. A positive result to a Covid test.

As I write this my phone buzzes and it confirms a positive test for Todd Strain another lifelong friend and hunting partner on the Dakota trips. Brian still awaits the results of his test as I write this.

With that comes self-quarantine and work from home. I really felt great other than sleeping longer than normal and no sense of smell or taste. I was fine.

Day 2 of quarantine and I thought it would be a good idea to get up early and go duck hunting by myself.

4 am and the alarm went off. Yep I still felt great. I had pre-rigged a brand-new set of decoys, pre-packed the truck. All I had to do was get my lab “Pistol” and get on the road.

One thing was different as I headed to our hunting land, the same land that has hosted many stories that appear on this website. Something very concerning.

Alex and I have hunted this land for about ten years and have always had access to the swamp area via a road we maintain. The road is in good shape ready for use and gets us quick and easy access to our prime duck hunting locations.

However, this year we hit a snag. The owners of the resort that we have had a great relationship over the years is now under new owners. The new owner of the resort recently purchased an additional less than 1-acre parcel of land near ours and it runs across the road we have maintained.

We have always talked and reported in with the owners when entering the property as a courtesy.

That is until the owner saw a nice buck running the road that crossed his property onto ours. We suddenly got texts saying we cannot cross the property anymore because he wanted to hunt on his parcel. We tried to work with him letting him know before we crossed and avoid going when he was hunting. The answer was still the same NO. Stay out. It is disappointing what hunting greed can do to good people.

Odd we thought and we probably have some legal easement but to avoid conflict meant we had to walk about 1/2 of a mile over a hill and down to the swamp through some of the thickest brush on our property.

Wednesday morning found me parked a half mile away from my destination. Slotted decoy bag on my shoulder, back pack full of ammo and all the good stuff you need for a blind bag and of course my gun. An easy load going downhill although the darkness and grapevines made it adventurous. When I hit the edge of the very steep hill the only solution was to slide down on my butt much like you did when you were kid. Slipping down the sledding hill. It worked well. Only a few thorny branches snapping my face like ice pellets when sledding I thought.

My feet now solidly under me and I was on the road looking at the backwaters, the bright stars reflecting off the water.

The too still water, the too perfect reflection, panic set in. ICE. No open water no ducks. Still pitch black out I walked to another location looking for open water. Nope.

Here I was on a Covid Vacation and no place to hunt. One last chance. Bingo! Open water.

Pistol by my side we set the decoys with a southeast wind. Perfect! Open water, sun and wind to my back.

I was early, no rush, I did not have to get to work. I couldn’t go to work. I felt great. I could take my time and enjoy. Many of my hunting outings I try to sneak in before work, I have made rushed decisions because work timing consideratoins. That usually led to less than super results.

Today I had nothing but time.

Ten Minutes before shooting light the sky starting to turn from black to light blue. In they came I heard the first few birds wings whistle by with a adrenalin jolting splash into the open water. So cool. Then as shooting light emerged waves upon waves of big fat mallards flew overhead buzzing the decoys. Well within shooting rage but not within the light tolerance to pick out a drake.

The limit allows for only two hens and as these birds piled into the the decoys there was no way of assuring a missed shot might find an unlucky hen. Remembering I am pretty good at missing. I needed to be patient. I was not in the game to record a limit record in 15 minutes. It would have been possible; the birds were there, the desire was not.

It was a show day. A day to enjoy being alive and relatively healthy. The first drake mallard giving me a reasonable shot cupped in and splashed into the Mississippi backwater after shots rang out from my twelve gauge. Pistol still sitting beside me. He looked at me in disbelief. Still sitting beside me enjoying the show as well. I think he had to look twice to confirm a retrieve was actually necessary.

Usually the minute the gun barks he is afoot. A habit I am trying to break. Little did I know all I had to do was miss a lot. He was with me in ND and SD and was witness. It seamed even Pistol was a critic of my shooting skills.

A simple command and Pistol was out into the water back with a beautiful heavy curled drake mallard. A perfect retrieve, holding steady in the blind (although I still think it was because of shock), a perfect release out of the blind, and the bird held firm and deposited to my hand. I could feel the smile on my face under my face mask. (Not the covid mask, the hunting mask)

I could quit right now. But it was only 7:10. I had all the time I needed.

I added another mallard to my bag passing on many more. Pistol again with a perfect retrieve. It was just a fun show to watch.

My phone rang and Alex my son who had hunted the same spot 5 days prior asked how it was going. I said it had slowed some. He said wait until about 8 and you will get a second wave.

He was right. The second wave was less interested in my spread, my hide was not nearly good enough for the later morning with brighter light giving away my location to the wary mallards. and I did not have the energy to remedy it.

I started to feel a bit fatigued and decided to pick up and head for the truck.

It was a fantastic morning. Beautiful sky, a slight wind, comfortable temperatures. Good dog work and less than disappointing marksmanship. Lots and lots of northern mallards migrating south. Quit while I was ahead I thought to myself.

I repacked and started back to the truck at about 8:15. The first part of the walk back was easy, down the point to the well maintained road. Then down the road to where I would have parked if a large whitetail had not messed it up.

Not being able or willing to proceed any further down the road, I looked to the northeast and facing me was an incline that was nasty, leafy, full of grapevines and buck thorn.

With Pistol by myside I decided the hill wasn’t going to climb itself. Pick a spot and start climbing all packed up in waders and heavy clothing it was not going to be a picnic. It took only about 10 steps and 15 yards up the incline to realize I was in trouble. The resistance of the brush pulling against the packs, made it a chore. Those of you who know me, understand I am not the smallest of hunters. 6 foot 2 inches and a weight to go with it that no one will mistake me for a string bean.

I stopped in place looked for a tree to lean against and fell to my knees gasping for air my chest feeling like it was going to explode. I was light headed and a bit confused. I leaned forward into the hill and rested closing my eyes letting the breath re-enter my lungs. When I woke up Pistol was by my side his head snuggled next to my cheek. I moved a bit and he licked my face. I said “no!” I have a thing about a dog licking my face. I know it is just a sign of affection but really. I watch him lick his balls, his butthole, and all the other dog parts. You have to draw a line somewhere. Plus his breath is always awful. The only time on the journey up the hill I would be thankful for Covid and the loss of smell.

I was only 15 yards from the bottom less than 20 percent of the way up. It didn’t get any better, only tougher. The distance before collapsing and a quick nap to regain strength was smaller. Each time I would wake with Pistol snuggled next to me licking me when I woke up.

I was finally at the crest of the hill. I was sweating profusely and very very disoriented. This time I just fell over laid down and looked at the final 15 yard to the crest of the hill and realistically wondered would this be my last two mallards. Was I having a heart attack? Or just reacting to the Covid. Either way I was down for the count and again when I woke up Pistol was there next to me his head tucked to my shoulder, licking my face when I started moving. I looked at my watch it was almost 10 am. The relatively short journey had taken well over an hour and a half and I wasn’t at the top yet.

The top of the hill flattened out and I could see my truck. That gave me some strength and I managed to make it to the truck without another nap or a kiss from my dog.


I have been told “stupid should hurt”… Let me tell you it does. Don’t mess with Covid. I have also been told If you are going to be stupid you better be tough…..or have a good dog. I am not so tough, but I am pretty happy and grateful for Pistol. He kept me moving when all I wanted to do was lay in the woods and sleep.

My phone rang with an inquiry of where I was and why so late. I sheepishly told my wife Sheila that I had some issues getting to the truck and I was light headed but ok and I would be home in a few minutes. She offered to come and get me but settled for a second call as I passed the intersection of County Road E and State Road 35. I hope these two mallards will not be my last but they will be the last mallards I hunt when I have covid. Be safe , Be healthy.