Empathy for Misery
my first limit
My time in Bellingham, Washington, was coming to an end. In just a few days, I would make the move back to the Front Range of Colorado. Simultaneously, life had become heavy. Surprise financial strain forced me to sell my sweet Bateau Dunn, and preparing to move across the country had triggered all sorts of emotions as I began to say goodbye to the people who made this place a home. As if that wasn’t enough, my newfound love of duck hunting was overpowering my desire to do anything else.
After a long week, I was eager to sit in a duck blind—even if it was pouring rain. I hopped out of the truck, threw on my bags, and grabbed the glass door on my truck topper to close it. It was having a hard time staying shut, so I applied a bit of extra force to convince it to stay latched. It turned out that a little bit was too much. The topper shattered, and my hand went through the glass.
Another unfortunate event in a series of unfortunate events. I looked at the sky for someone to blame, but found no one. Earlier that week, I had spent nearly $4,000 on unforeseen repairs on my truck. Seven days from then, I would be driving across the country with all my personal possessions. Now, I had shattered the back door on my moving truck, boat hauler, and grocery getter. Life had kicked me in the nuts and then decided to add on a stubbed toe for good measure.
As the blood dripped off my hand, I debated what to do next. Go hunt? Go home? Hit the bar? It didn’t take long to decide that hunting was the right choice.
I collected what glass I could and put it into the back of the truck before starting to walk out to the blind. After trudging through mud and cattails, I set out my decoys at my favorite hunting spot. I breathed a sigh of relief to finally have landed where I wanted to be—a duck blind.
The first ten minutes were eerily quiet. Nothing was moving, and the air felt still. However, I sensed something. Almost like the world felt a little bad with how things had been going for me. Maybe life had some empathy for my misery.
That feeling became reality when the air suddenly filled with the peeping noises of green-winged teal as they darted through my decoy spread. Startled, I shot at two birds and missed them both. Thankfully, there was another group right behind them who were unfazed by the shotgun blast. In one of the best shots I’ve ever made, I killed my first teal as it sped high above my decoys.
Teal are fast, erratic flyers, and delicious. A prized possession within the duck hunting world, and I was thrilled to have harvested my first. I already knew I would be plucking the bird and cooking it whole.
Minutes later, a group of twenty-some mallards flew by. With just one quack from my duck call, they decided to drop their landing gear. After another great shot, I had another duck in the bag. Before I could jump out of the blind to collect my green-headed prize, more ducks were coming into the decoys. My heart raced as I shot another drake mallard and my third duck of the day.
When I collected the two birds, the thought crossed my mind that if this action keeps up, I might just kill a limit… I quickly put the silly idea out of my head to prevent bad luck from getting in the way.
Every now and then, when fishing or hunting, there are days when everything works out perfectly, and the fish or animals are eager to participate. This was one of those days. Within forty-five minutes of putting out the decoys, I had six ducks in my possession. I just needed one more to get my limit.
As I sat in the blind, my heart still racing, the silence became heavy. On those days when everything is firing, just a few minutes without action will make you question it all. Is it over? Are the fish done biting? Did the birds stop flying? What did I do wrong?
Just as those thoughts crossed my mind, I heard the easily recognizable “who - wee - whooo” of a widgeon. Sure enough, two of them flew into the decoys. With one more shot, I killed my limit.
The sun was still shining, it was a warm and humid Washington evening, and the smile on my face was larger than life. I called my dad and told him what happened. He was thrilled.
When life gets a bit shitty, it also becomes exciting. The craziness of highs and lows all jammed within a short time frame makes for a truly exciting human experience.
The days leading up to my move were exciting to say the least, but despite a few rain clouds hanging over my head, it was capped off with a very successful duck hunt. As I walked out of the marsh that day, I returned my gaze to the sky and realized I had the ducks to thank, and still no one to blame.
Kudos, Cliff. The story and the limit.
May you have decades in blinds.
New Substack here. Boomer, just retired, probably your Dad's age. Recounting a life in the outdoors, bird hunting and fly-fishing. https://totemtik.substack.com/p/genesis
Please get Dad out with you, as often as possible. Life is short.
And keep writing. Good work!
Good one!
There are bad days, good days....and great days! Sorry about the topper...