Striking Out

I called it off pretty early this morning. There weren’t any birds flying anyways. 

Not that it’s anything unusual for me to be loading out empty handed - ducks are a bonus, I’m just be happy to be out here. I’ve said it a million times, and my dad a million more. Today was different though. Usually birds moving, regardless of how high or how disinterested in your spread they are, lend themselves to a glimmer of hope. The feeling that just maybe one or two of those thousands will drop in here on me. Maybe that group of pintails on the next field over will catch the light off the decoys and come have a look. Maybe I’ll get lucky today; Sometimes I do. 

There’s always a reason, of course, for my coming home with one or two or no ducks to show for countless early frigid mornings: the weather, or my standard “they were flying I just couldn’t get any to work.” I keep going because they’re out there and because my day will come, surely. There’s always hope. Not today, though. Today the sky was empty, no mile-high geese even, and no shots in the distance - was it a full moon last night? But I had plenty of time to listen to the water and to the wind and slow down my heart rate and think. The coffee was good and strong and the sunrise stretched up into forever.

So I headed home to play with my dog, give my wife a kiss, maybe have a bloody Mary. 

On the way out I stop the truck to talk to the folks who hunt the next field up from me. Typically I find myself jealous of their haul, of the number of shots I hear them take to my few. But this morning I seem to have caught them leaving empty handed, too. Red faced from the wind, bearded, loading up dogs and decoys, hell, they almost look like me.  

How’d you guys do?

We didn’t do no good.

Sure was a slow morning.

Sure was. 

Today my result is just like everyone else’s - No excuses needed.