F
Field Ethos
Guest
By Caleb McClain
The flock had locked onto our spread long before we saw them. I raised the barrels of my over-under from our well-concealed spot in the mangroves as the ducks came in feet-down and picked out a lone drake on my side. At the roar of the shotgun, he fell hard, slamming into the knee-deep water of the bay.
I held him up in admiration, a mature redhead drake, with a stark white belly.
“You putting that one on the wall?” My uncle asked.
“I swear, I’ll get a redhead mounted one of these days. I have to before I leave Texas.”
“You say that every time,” my uncle replied. “Look at him. He belongs on a wall. You can’t argue. Besides, you aren’t leaving Texas—you’d have to leave this.”
It was the same back-and-forth banter every trip.
The Laguna Madre of Texas and Mexico is a special place, hosting anywhere between 75% and 90% of the world’s redhead duck population every winter. For those who are unfamiliar, redheads are relatively easy to hunt. They’ll decoy to almost anything, and they respond to even the worst call, yet they remain one of the most fun birds to pursue.
By sheer luck, my uncle discovered an incredible walk-in spot in a busy tourist town that always had birds. Being a man of originality, he just called it “the Spot.” He would often recount stories of heading out there and seeing 1,000 ducks in a single day.
When I moved back to Texas, I got my first invitation to join him at the Spot. I drove down to meet my uncle, and we left from Austin at 2:00 AM on a Saturday. The birds were flying well, and I managed to bag my first two redheads, along with a pintail drake. I was hooked on the coast from then on.
Soon, the Spot became my second home. In the winter, we would drive down early in the morning, set out spreads of up to five dozen decoys, shoot our two redheads with a few other species thrown in, then drive back. In the summer, it was the same, just with redfish and trout.
The last day of the season came, and we were determined to go out with a bang. We set 10 dozen decoys, the most we had ever used, hoping that the large, natural-looking spread would appear more convincing to the weary birds that had been shot at for three months straight.
“Birds! Left to right, low, over the island!” he whispered loudly.
We crouched down in the mangroves, guns ready, just like hundreds of times before. As the barrage of shots rang out, we each dropped one.
I walked to retrieve the floating bird I had shot, only to find it was a beautiful, mature drake. I stood there for a moment, admiring its so-called “bull head,” knowing instantly that this was the duck that would be mounted forever. I walked back, carefully placing it aside, ensuring that all the feathers were in their proper positions.
As we cleaned ducks on the tailgate, I turned to my uncle. “You have a bag I can put this one in? I think I’m going to get him mounted.”
He nodded, then reached into the back seat and handed me a bag. We both knew exactly what it meant without a word of further acknowledgement: after five years, this era was over.
Just two months later, my house hit the market, and I haven’t returned to the Spot since.
The post The Spot appeared first on Field Ethos.
Continue reading...
The flock had locked onto our spread long before we saw them. I raised the barrels of my over-under from our well-concealed spot in the mangroves as the ducks came in feet-down and picked out a lone drake on my side. At the roar of the shotgun, he fell hard, slamming into the knee-deep water of the bay.
I held him up in admiration, a mature redhead drake, with a stark white belly.
“You putting that one on the wall?” My uncle asked.
“I swear, I’ll get a redhead mounted one of these days. I have to before I leave Texas.”
“You say that every time,” my uncle replied. “Look at him. He belongs on a wall. You can’t argue. Besides, you aren’t leaving Texas—you’d have to leave this.”
It was the same back-and-forth banter every trip.
The Laguna Madre of Texas and Mexico is a special place, hosting anywhere between 75% and 90% of the world’s redhead duck population every winter. For those who are unfamiliar, redheads are relatively easy to hunt. They’ll decoy to almost anything, and they respond to even the worst call, yet they remain one of the most fun birds to pursue.
The Hot Spot
By sheer luck, my uncle discovered an incredible walk-in spot in a busy tourist town that always had birds. Being a man of originality, he just called it “the Spot.” He would often recount stories of heading out there and seeing 1,000 ducks in a single day.
When I moved back to Texas, I got my first invitation to join him at the Spot. I drove down to meet my uncle, and we left from Austin at 2:00 AM on a Saturday. The birds were flying well, and I managed to bag my first two redheads, along with a pintail drake. I was hooked on the coast from then on.
Soon, the Spot became my second home. In the winter, we would drive down early in the morning, set out spreads of up to five dozen decoys, shoot our two redheads with a few other species thrown in, then drive back. In the summer, it was the same, just with redfish and trout.
The last day of the season came, and we were determined to go out with a bang. We set 10 dozen decoys, the most we had ever used, hoping that the large, natural-looking spread would appear more convincing to the weary birds that had been shot at for three months straight.
“Birds! Left to right, low, over the island!” he whispered loudly.
We crouched down in the mangroves, guns ready, just like hundreds of times before. As the barrage of shots rang out, we each dropped one.
All Good Things …
I walked to retrieve the floating bird I had shot, only to find it was a beautiful, mature drake. I stood there for a moment, admiring its so-called “bull head,” knowing instantly that this was the duck that would be mounted forever. I walked back, carefully placing it aside, ensuring that all the feathers were in their proper positions.
As we cleaned ducks on the tailgate, I turned to my uncle. “You have a bag I can put this one in? I think I’m going to get him mounted.”
He nodded, then reached into the back seat and handed me a bag. We both knew exactly what it meant without a word of further acknowledgement: after five years, this era was over.
Just two months later, my house hit the market, and I haven’t returned to the Spot since.
The post The Spot appeared first on Field Ethos.
Continue reading...
