They were father and son, and the man had once been a boy in this same old boat with his own dad. The boat was wooden and weathered but well-cared-for and perfectly suited for the engine that pushed it. Twelve-year-old Ben sat next to his father on the rear bench, and beyond the single empty seat on the centerline of the boat, standing next to a burlap sack of decoys, was Jack, an experienced and alert male black Labrador, his nose pointed in the wind and ears sailing along with the predawn breeze. Although their tradition began just two years earlier, the boy and his father both knew it would last for many more.
The man knew the water trail through the marsh as well as his own home, but the boy held the light, so the man would nudge him now and then so the boy could light the way. The ride was a brisk 20 minutes and could be frigid in December or January, but this November opening morning, the passage was just exhilarating. As the boat neared the end of the trail, Jack began to announce its arrival with an occasional bark. It made them smile.
Thirty feet from the end of the trail, as the man slowed the boat to an idle, the boy did not need a nudge to turn on the light and shine it on a boat hide adjacent to the trail. Inside was a pair of paddles and a pirogue flipped over to avoid the rain. That pirogue had been in service as long as the boat.
“Let’s get you and Jack to the blind,” the man said as he accelerated the boat’s engine.
As they entered the pond, a group of 10 to 15 ducks jumped and took flight. Jack whimpered with excitement.
The pond was about 2 acres and dotted with four small islands that broke it up perfectly. Jack would, on a retrieve, inevitably, use the nearest to the blind when nature called.
As they pushed through the shallow water of the pond, they stirred the bottom and the sharp smell of swamp gas was with them. It reeked of adventure.
The blind was on the far bank and slightly to the left from the mouth of the trail. It was impossible to see in the dark, but it was there, and it would not be seen in daylight. The boy’s grandfather had built it 40 years ago. It was a pit blind sunk in the marsh and within 6 inches of the typical level of the pond, and it received yearly maintenance, usually requiring a full day in October to ready it for duck season.
“We’re right on time, Ben,” the man said, “and Jack can’t wait another minute. Let’s get the decoys out and those teal will be back. It’s going to be a great morning.”
Ben emptied the sack onto the floor of the skiff, and it sounded like you could hear it back at the camp. They quickly tossed out two dozen floats, and the man used a push pole to bring them the last several yards to the bank and the blind.
“Make sure you don’t have any friends in there with you, Ben, before you get in.”
Ben had heard all the stories about climbing into blinds and discovering unwanted inhabitants. His older brother once had a standoff with a raccoon, and his dad had been surprised by a snake. A quick look proved nothing was there; the recent dry weather had kept the blind dry, too.
On the far side of the blind was a dog porch.
“Come on, Jack, let’s go to work,” the man said, and the Lab busted out of the boat, flopped into the blind, and sat on the bench.
AS THEY ENTERED THE POND, A GROUP OF 10 TO 15 DUCKS JUMPED AND TOOK FLIGHT. JACK WHIMPERED WITH EXCITEMENT.
Ben followed, and the man handed him a pair of shell buckets, two guns in canvas cases, and a small green canvas tote. “The guns stay in the cases until I get back, right?”
“Dad, you don’t need to tell me that every time.”
“Yeah, I do,” was all the man said. He started the boat and turned it toward the boat hide. He would be gone 15 minutes.
Jack moved closer and sat next to Ben, shoving his snout up under the boy’s elbow and resting his heavy head on his chest. Ben gave a chuckle and scratched behind the big Lab’s ear. This was a favorite time—alone with the dog and listening to the marsh come to life.
A large flight of ducks buzzed low over them and both of them looked up. Jack whined in anticipation of the task ahead.
Ben could faintly hear his father moving from the boat and into the pirogue. An occasional knocking sound would come across the water as he made the exchange. Soon, Ben caught sight of him slowly paddling toward the blind. In the moonlight, he could see a trail of phosphors taking shape in the wake behind the small boat. It looked like a dream.
“Ben, I’ve seen a bunch flying, and I had two big ducks drop in next to me on the way back. We ought to have ’em just right, pal,” the man said as he slid up on the shore next to the blind. He pulled himself up and carefully stepped to the front of the boat and out onto the bank. There was a small grass cave behind the blind that was made of chicken wire and wooden stakes, and he easily pushed the small boat into the space.
“We’ve got about 10 minutes to shooting time, and with the way the birds are flying, this could be over quick, Ben. Let’s get ready,” the father said as he stepped into the blind.
Ben handed his father his gun and shell bucket and then reached for his own. He pulled the 20-gauge side by side out of the case and broke it open. His father was silent, but Ben knew he was watching. Ben reached into a box of shells that rested on the ledge in front of them in the blind, removed two, and slid them into the gun’s chamber. Before closing the breach, he checked that the safety was on and then brought the gun together with a solid snap. It was the same gun his grandfather had first let his dad use, and his brother had used it before him.
The man pushed three shells into a well-used automatic and announced, “We’re open for business.”
The final three minutes until shooting time seemed an eternity. A steady flow of birds, mostly teal, came in and out of their decoys. Jack did not budge or make a sound now; he was as much the hunter as the father and son pair, and he knew his part well.
“We’re good,” the man finally said, “the next ones in, let’s go, but no spoonbills and remember swing through, lead, and squeeze.”
Within 30 seconds, a flight of eight to 10 green-winged teal came hurtling in from the left. They both saw them and, in concert, stood and fired. Three birds dropped dead, and a cripple was down 80 feet out. “Jack!” was all the man said, and the dog responded with a crashing leap into the pond and, as trained, headed like a torpedo for the cripple first.
JACK DID NOT BUDGE OR MAKE A SOUND NOW; HE WAS AS MUCH THE HUNTER AS THE FATHER AND SON PAIR, AND HE KNEW HIS PART WELL.
“You had a great shot on the lead bird, Ben, and I think we might have shot one of them together.” The morning went quickly, and when they had 10 teal and were two short of a limit, they decided to wait and see if some big ducks—mallards or pintail—might decide to show up.
The man then reached in the canvas sack and handed Ben a sausage biscuit and took one, too. He fished a thermos out along with two tin cups and a flask of milk. He poured a generous amount into one and a splash into the second and filled them both up with steaming coffee. “Be careful, Ben, it’s hot.”
The boy groaned. “Dad, when do you and Mom stop telling us to be careful, watch out, stay warm, look both ways, and everything else?”
“Never,” the man said with a chuckle. The boy just smiled. They ate in silence, and the boy thought of the empty seat in front of them on the boat and the extra space in the blind.
“Do you think about Grandpa much?” Ben said.
“Every day and was just doing that now; he was a great guy.”
“He would have liked to have been here this morning, huh, Dad?”
“I think he might be here and we just can’t see him. I kind of think he’s just on the other side of that sunrise we’re having and probably pretty happy with your shooting,” the man said with a smile.
Jack was the first to react and pulled his shoulders down and turned his head to the right. Five mallards, three drakes and two hens, with wings cupped came in over the pond from behind and to the right of them. The boy gasped, clicked his safety off, and started to stand. His father pulled him back to the seat. “Go back to safety and wait. Let’s let ’em work around one more time.”
The man was right. The birds regained flight and circled them once again and then straight out in front of the blind cupped their wings, committed, and came in.
The boy rose, shouldered the gun, and cleanly took the first greenhead. Two birds on the left swung off quickly, but a greenhead and a hen went straight up as fast as their wings could climb. The boy seemed to pause for a split second but then, with the birds 60 yards up, fired, and the second greenhead crumpled.
The boy and the man gave a huge whoop and turned to each other, and it was then that the boy saw the man had not taken his gun up to shoot. They highfived, and Jack began a retrieve. “Dad, what if I had missed?” Ben said.
“Well, then, I guess Jack would have been hacked and Grandpa would have been really wrong about your shooting. Let’s let Jack finish up and get back to the camp. We need to call Mom ’cause she’ll want to know we’re OK.”
“It was a great morning, Dad.”
“Yep, a great opening day.”
