TALK ON THE STREET
September 23, 2015
Cut Off man’s work ethic, dedication the foundation for his success
September 23, 2015
On many successful hunts, no game ever makes it to the dining room table, but these days make memories that live forever, if only in a sportsman’s mind.
For me, one such memorable hunt occurred many Septembers ago. Late September in south Louisiana means one thing — teal season! Blue-winged teal usually begin arriving along the Gulf Coast in late summer, much earlier than most other ducks, so the state opens a special teal season every September. This year, the season runs through Sept. 27 with a limit of six per day.
On one balmy September afternoon, I planned to hunt a shallow marshy pond near my home. To reach the pond, I had to paddle through myriad narrow channels. As I rounded a bend, the pirogue nearly bumped into two alligators sunning themselves on the muddy bank, barely a few feet away.
As surprised as I was by the encounter, the smaller one quickly plunged into the water and disappeared. The larger one, about a 6-footer, remained stationary almost until the boat drifted past it. Then, it quickly plopped into the channel. Resting on the mud bottom directly beneath the boat, the alligator must have believed it found sanctuary. It didn’t reckon on a mischievous Cajun teen.
With clear water barely two feet deep, the gator chose a poor hiding place. I didn’t show the best sense either. For fun, I gave the beast a less than subtle nudge with the paddle. The alligator didn’t appreciate my humor. When the paddle touched its back – rather smartly – it ripped through the channel – or did it tear a new one – getting as far away from this crazy human as possible.
Nearly upsetting the tippy craft, it sloshed a wake larger than the Lock Ness Monster at feeding time and caused more commotion than a herd of drowning water buffaloes – or one half-trained Labrador retriever yearling! In an Alligator Olympics, it surely would have won the 100-yard thrash.
After fighting my way through alligators and showing them who was boss, I finally reached the pond. A root quickly showed me
who was boss, bringing me back to earth – literally. As I stepped from the boat, I tripped and fell face first into the muck. Opening my eyes, I quickly remembered other reptiles enjoying the sunshine.
To my horror, I stared into the cat-like eyes of a 4-foot-long water moccasin coiled not more than a couple feet from my face. Closing my eyes tightly, positive “the big one” arrived, I waited for the inevitable strike.
“Lord, this is it. Make a place for me. I’m coming soon.”
Praying for forgiveness for all sins real and imagined, I was certainly going to punch a ticket for the Here After soon. After aging several years in a few seconds, I slightly cracked open one eye. Yes, the enormous coiled black monster (in my mind it had grown 15 feet in a few seconds) still poised to take the fatal strike at my nose. I slammed my eyes shut again.
“Ah, Lord. It’s me again. I was just thinking; nothing has happened yet. If you are going to take me, please do it now. This waiting is awful, but, Lord, if you can wait, I’m not in that big of a hurry to see the Pearly Gates.”
Still, no fangs pierced my flesh. Mustering some courage, I peeked with both eyes and noticed something odd. I couldn’t quite determine exactly what. I raised my head and then rose to my feet. The snake still didn’t move. Curious, I picked up a stick and poked at it. Nothing! I don’t know what caused its death, but better it than me! Perhaps, it suffered a massive heart attack as I nearly fell on it.
Getting back to business, I set the decoys, fashioned a blind from native vegetation and waited for waves of teal to whistle into range. I waited and waited and waited. Occasionally, a mosquito buzzed agonizingly close to my eyeball. Catching the faint aerial movement and thinking a duck flashed by caused nine months of accumulated adrenaline, anticipation and huntless frustration to rage in my blood. When I realized the true culprit, I felt stupid – then swatted the mosquito! I guess I suffered early season jitters and an overwhelming desire to hear the echo of a gun firing.
While waiting, several visitors did come by including a large nutria and a multitude of diverse birds, but none of the ones I wanted to see. Later, six otters merrily played among the decoys. Since no teal flew in the vicinity, I enjoyed watching them. Occasionally, an otter snatched a fat blue crab from the pond bottom. Floating on their backs, they held crabs with their two front handlike paws, eating them like sandwiches.
They obviously knew I hid in the marsh grass. They even took turns watching me. One would approach to within a few feet of the blind to observe me while the others dined on crabs. A few minutes later, another one came to relieve its associate. For a long time, we just studied each other until they disappeared into the vast coastal marsh as quietly and suddenly as they had arrived. Apparently, a soggy, muddy, camouflaged hunter trying to sit still in some grass and bushes while being slowly devoured alive by mosquitoes offered little entertainment for them. Maybe they simply ate their fill of crabs and wanted to taste other delicacies elsewhere.
After the otters departed, a pair of mottled ducks landed in the decoys as if knowing I couldn’t shoot them for another two months. They swam around for a while and then flew off. Then, a small flock of poule d’eau, or coots, swam into the pond. Also illegal to shoot during this special teal-only season, they became a sort of living decoy spread for a while.
Eventually, some teal appeared, briefly. During the waning daylight hours, a small flock darted over the pond, hotly en route to another place. I splashed one blue-winged drake in the middle of the pond. With just a few more minutes remaining in legal shooting hours, I left the dead bird floating on the pond. I would retrieve it after shooting hours ended. Normally, leaving a dead duck floating on a pond while trying to get others in the same predicament presents no problems. Normally, though, hunters don’t antagonize alligators before setting up a duck blind!
The duck floated undisturbed for several minutes while I scanned the darkening sky for more teal. While watching the magnificence of an astounding early autumn sunset highlight the radiant colors of a strikingly handsome drake wood duck that passed over the blind, the pond surface suddenly erupted in a huge commotion as if a huge bass smashed a topwater plug. The teal vanished with the fading pond ripples.
Certainly, no bass could have swallowed that duck. An alligator, possibly my former reptilian nemesis seeking its revenge, gobbled another easy meal. The day ended in a spectacular kalei doscope of color.
Paddling back to the landing in near darkness allowed time to think. I returned with an empty game bag, bu a brain saturated with lifelong memories. I knew that this day would never return I may enjoy similar ones, but none exactly like this one. An old Indian proverb says that a man can never put his hand in a river twice in exactly the same spot. Everything changes. Time, place and exact conditions never repeat.
‘In an Alligator Olympics, it surely would have won the 100-yard thrash.’
John Felsher
Cajun Sportsman Columnist
The sun lazily rises over the sky in Louisiana’s marsh. With hunting season set to explode into high gear, Cajun Sportsman columnist John Felsher said the best time of the year is here.
Louisiana’s marsh is loaded with beautiful birds. Hunting season is about to get into high gear, and thousands of avid hunters will be out on the water trying to bag their limit in ducks and other migratory birds.
