3:50 A.M. November 29th, 2019: The rhino won’t start.
We have planned for opening day for about 3 months now, the who, what, when, and where. We were prepared like a Special Forces team about to raid a compound. “Decoys – Check, Waders – Check, Gun – Check, Dogs – Check….” And the list went on and on. Everything was timed and planned for, We showed up at 11 p.m. the night before, first in line.
It is a good feeling when you pull down a NWR Levee and no one is on it but you. We filled out our cards and checked in, sat in the truck and gave the first celebratory fist bump of the year, it was a small victory but it gave us a bucket load of confidence for the morning to come. The first truck showed up around 12:30-1, and we hopped out to figure out their plans so we didn’t hunt on top of them, turns out they were hunting in the same general area as us within a 40,000 acre block of woods. Come to find out, that was going to come in handy real soon.
Since we couldn’t enter the hunting zone until 4 A.M., we tried to get some shut eye in the luxurious front seats of a Ford F-150, but we were a bit to anxious to sleep much. At 3:15, we hopped out and there was about 25-30 trucks and boats behind us in line, not to mention another 25-30 on the other side of the levee. We had a crooked grin as we put on our waders, and started transferring 2 dozen decoys, 2 dog stands, guns, blind bags, jerk strings and camera gear into the back of the rhino. We drank our coffee a chit-chatted with other groups of hunters just to kill the time. And at 3:45, my buddy gets in the rhino and turns the key.
“Cli-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-ick”. The rhino is clicking. Me being me, I yank the hood back and start diagnosing the catastrophe. “Keep turning the key!!”, and it eventually stopped clicking all together, the solenoid was fried. To say the least, this was really, really bad timing. It’s 3:50 a.m., with 10 minutes to go and well over 100 guys behind us who have waited all year for this moment just like us. Maybe we shouldn’t have been first after all. My buddy stays on the rhino attempting to crank it, and I get in the driver seat of the truck. At 3:58 a light bulb went off in my head, I call Clay — “Here’s the plan: As soon as we get to the parking lot, I’m taking decoys and I am going to find a ride as close as possible to where we need to go. You wait for the rest of the group and take the gear in when we get there. Sound good?” I hung the phone up, the clocked ticked 4:00 a.m. and we were on our way.
I threw the truck in park, hopped out and snatched a sack of decoys and found the guys behind us and frantically said “Our rhino won’t crank, I need a ride. Don’t care where you drop me off, I just need to be closer than here. Where you stop is where I start walking.” I was reluctantly told “I reckon just find a spot bud” Just Like that we were in business. Little did I know, that they were stopping about 3/4-1 mile shy of where I needed to park. At this point, I didn’t care, I was getting my hole.
I hopped in the back of the ranger, on top of a few dozen Dakota Decoys, held on to these stranger’s dog, and did no less than 50 mph down a gravel road until they hit their gas line marker. I jumped out and yelled “Preciate it boys!!” and struck out through the woods. There seemed to be a group or two stopping where I needed to be, that’s nothing but a step for a stepper like myself – I thought. I took a hard 45 degree cut through the woods and was booking it. Cross one slough, two sloughs, dry ground — time to check my GPS. No bueno. I had crossed the path to my whole by a solid 1/2 mile.
I briefly got turned around, and called Clay he answered the phone sounding like Eoar from Winnie the Pooh, “Yeah man?” out of breath I said “I got lost, and there’s no way we get the hole we want go to plan B”. I hung up and got my bearings, and struck out again, this time through a slough that was a bit to deep for my brand new Drake Breathable waders, but I kept on trucking. When I came out into a clearing, I saw headlights in the distance, but they were behind me. Hold on, THEY ARE BEHIND ME. I check my gps, found a familiar tree and started calling Clay and sprinting at the same time.
“GO PLAN A. I’M GONNA GET THE HOLE! GO PLAN A.” I hung up, and kept going, I ran through the woods with a dozen bouncing Avery GHG decoys and finally found the buckbrush I had been looking for, I stepped out in the water and chunked the decoy bag as far as I could. We got it. We got the hole we had been wanting for 3 months, granted, I almost blew a lung out doing so, but we got it.
I was half naked, sweating, and almost hyperventilating when I called Clay again to tell him we got it. We hashed out the rest of the plan, and hung up. I checked my GPS, and I had walked/ran close to 3.6 miles. That’s tough, but it gets tougher. In order to be set up by shooting time, that meant I had to set up the decoys and head back out to help the rest of the crew bring stuff in. And I did just that. They made 2 trips in 1 ranger to get all the gear, guns, dogs, and hunters. I met them half way on the 1.3 mile hike to the hole, and we all toted our fair share of heavy things. I carried my camera equipment, gun, and Wren and Ivy Heirloom Ditty Bag.
I briefly got turned around, and called Clay he answered the phone sounding like Eoar from Winnie the Pooh, “Yeah man?” out of breath I said “I got lost, and there’s no way we get the hole we want go to plan B”. I hung up and got my bearings, and struck out again, this time through a slough that was a bit to deep for my brand new Drake Breathable waders, but I kept on trucking. When I came out into a clearing, I saw headlights in the distance, but they were behind me. Hold on, THEY ARE BEHIND ME. I check my gps, found a familiar tree and started calling Clay and sprinting at the same time.
“GO PLAN A. I’M GONNA GET THE HOLE! GO PLAN A.” I hung up, and kept going, I ran through the woods with a dozen bouncing Avery GHG decoys and finally found the buckbrush I had been looking for, I stepped out in the water and chunked the decoy bag as far as I could. We got it. We got the hole we had been wanting for 3 months, granted, I almost blew a lung out doing so, but we got it.
I was half naked, sweating, and almost hyperventilating when I called Clay again to tell him we got it. We hashed out the rest of the plan, and hung up. I checked my GPS, and I had walked/ran close to 3.6 miles. That’s tough, but it gets tougher. In order to be set up by shooting time, that meant I had to set up the decoys and head back out to help the rest of the crew bring stuff in. And I did just that. They made 2 trips in 1 ranger to get all the gear, guns, dogs, and hunters. I met them half way on the 1.3 mile hike to the hole, and we all toted our fair share of heavy things. I carried my camera equipment, gun, and Wren and Ivy Heirloom Ditty Bag.
Slowly but surely, we made it back to our hole and set up with about 15 minutes until shooting time. I could finally breathe a sigh of relief knowing I didn’t have to walk back out for another 4-5 hours. The first flight of woodies buzzed us, and from then on it was steady flights of birds, mostly wood ducks which we ignorantly passed on, and a handful of mallards we attempted to work. Eventually, we wised up and shot a drake wood duck. My hunting partners hammered a cutdown and turned the head of 2 mallards, we had them working and working and finally got them to break the trees and give it. 3 Shots went off, and 2 ducks died. From then on, we never fired another shot. 4 guys, 2 dogs, and 3 ducks. Was it worth it?
You’re dang right it was worth it. It was opening day. We packed up like a herd of pack mules and lugged all of our stuff out of the woods. And made it back to the ranger, where I finally turned my GPS tracker off and it read 6.38 miles and the first hunting adventure was over. Was all of the walking fun? No, not then it wasn’t but now I can look back and tell that story. Which proves the point Doxa Media tries to make, every hunt, every trip, has a story. Hopefully for you, it won’t take 6 miles and 3 ducks but for me that day, it was worth every step.
