After a most frustrating season at Club CK, it finally came together. After seeing good numbers sitting on the lake Tues and Wed afternoon, I decide to hunt Thurs. A constant swirl of pins and enough mallards to warrant the effort to stay out. It took some convincing, but I got the aging brother, (with whom I was sitting 55 yrs ago when I shot my first two ducks), to come out to the lake. This makes about 70 yrs that he has hunted our farm at least once per year. I got four, he got three.
I made a solo hunt the last day, mostly as a ritual, a final visit to one of my happy places. My goal was to get a final pin and green head, and I brought (what I thought was) enough shells to accomplish that. A drake teal lit in the dekes. "If another one does that, I'll take him." One does. Whiff whiff. "Huh..." A couple pin drakes come around. "You just made a bad decision" I say to one of them. Blam, down he goes. Blam blam as he swims for the brush across the lake. I walk around the lake and spot him in the brush. Blam, close the deal on the last pin of the season.
THREE shells left... No problem. I will wait for a slam dunk shot at my final mallard. Over the next hour five or six pairs spike in without a circle, landing just out of good jump shooting range. (Along with about 200 pins)."Maybe I don't need one more. Maybe I'll just tell them to come again next year, and bring the family". Another pair comes in. The old fire flares up. "F that! I want one more!". A few more pairs elude me. Finally, for the first time all season, I have multiple mallard drakes in range at the same time. Adrenalin surges, thinking stops, and I take a shot at one that is plenty close but at a bad angle. Whiff. Pull the trigger again. Nothing. The gun didn't cycle. "&^^^%".
TWO shells left.... Not wanting to risk winging one and not being able to finish him off, I call it a day, and a season.
Somewhere out there is a mallard drake that will never know how lucky he is to be alive. And the wait for "Next year" begins.