Nash Buckingham As soon as Shot a 25-Black-Duck Restrict (and eight Geese) Through the Glory Days of Waterfowl Searching

This story was initially revealed within the September 1955 problem of Outside Life. It has been edited calmly to suit trendy requirements. 

Almost 35 years in the past the late P.C. (Perry) Hooker walked into our sporting-goods emporium in Memphis, Tennessee, and handed me eight unmarked containers of 12 gauge shotgun shells with one hand and a surprisingly heavy leather-based gun case with the opposite. 

Perry, who represented an ammuni­tion firm, stated, “Buck, listed here are some hulls and a gun the large boss desires you to check on geese and geese. There’s No. 4 shot in all of the shells. however half of them are common 2 3;4 -inchers and the remainder are three inches long-Magnums. They’re all loaded with a brand new fangled, slow-burning powder that’s supposed to provide extra velocity and denser, shorter shot strings. The gun’s an ‘over-bored’ Magnum. Neither the gun nor the shells might be in the marketplace any time quickly. The boss desires you to check them and provides him a full report as quickly as you possibly can. Mark it ‘private and confidential.’” 

“I’ll attempt them at Wapanoca, for a starter,” I replied. “Irma is driving by for me in about an hour and we’re go­ing on out to attract for blinds. Inform the boss I’ll give his wares a radical check. beginning to­norrow.” 

In these days, Wapanoca had per­haps the heaviest waterfowl concentra­tions, on its 3,000 acres of open water and riparian marsh, of any space within the nation. Mendacity in a sweeping bend of the Mississippi River, its inviting expanses of lush aquatic meals, saw-grass pockets, cypress and pin-oak flats, willowed bays, and sequestered lagoons had attracted migra­tions since time immemorial. The lake is in Arkansas, close to Turrell, however that’s solely 25 miles northwest of Memphis. 

Late that long-gone November afternoon, Irma and I made a reckless 40-mile-an-hour drive over a wonderful new gravel highway and turned in on the palatial clubhouse at nightfall, in time for Wapanoca’s biggest ceremony-the draw for paddlers and stands. That individual night ( so says my worn, leather-bound diary) 13 members have been in on the draw. It was one thing of a ritual at Wapanoca —— this drawing to allot taking pictures blinds. First got here the task of guides, who have been as expectant and eager as anybody, huddled on the far finish of the lounge, close to the cavernous fire to study “who drawed ‘em.”

 Make certain the paddlers had their likes and dislikes as doable assignments. That night Wapanoca’s president presided as grasp of the shake-rattle­and-roll. Every information ‘s identify was num­bered for the season. The ten ball can be Moses, say, or Osborne; the seven, Columbus. I used to be fortunate and drew Aaron. A greater taking pictures or fishing companion by no means lived. We have been of al­most an identical ages and had roamed the outside collectively since boyhood. Aaron’s father had paddled for mine. He was tall, sturdy, a keen-eyed woods­man and gun-pointer. You may set your watch and shove in your stack on Aaron. 

Then we drew for blinds. The fortunate man who obtained the number-one ball huddled exasperatingly together with his pusher till they agreed on essentially the most promising location. The remainder of us waited, glower­ing. There have been 13 blinds listed that night. I drew quantity 13. One after the other the president marked off the primary 12 picks. 

However one remained — an space named Treadwell’s, after a pio­neering member.It was a 3 acre lake opening off the southeastern finish of Massive Lake and three miles from the boat touchdown. The come-lately outboard motors weren’t permitted to frighten Wapanoca’s concentrations. You rowed or poled and adopted shorelines. Within the heart of Massive Lake was practically a sq. mile of meals and refuge.

Wapanoca’s president stated, in his chilly, discouraging banker’s voice. “Sorry, Buck, you possibly can’t get a ship into Treadwell’s. The water’s too low. No­physique’s been capable of shoot there this season.”

“Nicely,” stated I, longing to cleave him amidst, “because you’re not inviting us to share the wealth of your number-two draw, isn’t Treadwell’s ours if we would like it?” 

“Yep,” he grunted, shuffling the papers and shutting the recordsdata. “You’re welcome to attempt your fortunate 13.” 

Later  that night time, in a sport of crimson canine, the banker had a lesson in poetic justice. Then, earlier than delivering, I gave the brand new 9 3/4 pound Fox “over-bored” Magnum a cautious test for inventory size and drop at comb and heel. It measured nearly like my 34-inch­tubed Parker. Just like the Parker, its trig­ger pull was mild and clean as a mouse’s ear. However, I made a decision to take each weapons with me the subsequent day.

Subsequent morning Aaron loaded my mild boat with three dozen hollow-cedar mallard decoys; a field holding ammuni­tion, grub, and digicam; each my gun ; and Irma’s 12 gauge Mannequin 97 Win­chester. Large Pat, the Chesapeake, hopped onto my prow and I manned the oars. Aaron poled Irma in a bigger craft. In that method we traveled sooner and will use my smaller boat for shallower waters if want be. 

With different craft spreading to stations by way of Little and Massive Lakes, the din of rising geese and geese was virtually deafening. 

It was a chilly north-windy day. With the wind on our tails, we made the doorway to Treadwell’s in an hour. By then weapons have been thumping and thudding at blinds nearer to the clubhouse. Geese rose in clouds from the refuge, certain for near-by Mississippi River sandbars. Above the open expanse of Massive Lake wove sky-obscuring lots of resettling geese. 

Shallow run-out water drained by way of willows shielding the doorway to Treadwell’s. There we cached the bigger boat and transferred Irma to my craft. With a tow rope round a paddle’s stem, Aaron and I sledded the sunshine boat for 200 yards by way of shal­lows and swap willows. There was six inches of water, which was lots. Once we breasted into the open, Tread­properly’s actually arose en masse and flew away. 

After pushing the boat right into a button­willow clump, Aaron scattered two dozen of the mallard decoys. In the meantime I lopped off limbs and original a conceal in order that Irma, with the north breeze at her again, may shoot sitting or stand­ing. Subsequent I raised and tightened my hip boots, put a field every of the brand new shells—regulars and Magnums—into the again of my taking pictures coat, and picked up the Fox gun. Pat, alerted by such preparations, watched my each transfer. 

Then Aaron seated himself on the prow, unlimbered his duck name, and grinned. “You fixing to wade as much as Goose Gap, ain’t you?” he requested. 

“Yep, I haven’t been in there for greater than 20 years. however seems to be as if each duck we’ve moved out of right here is drifting in that course. If that’s the case, I’ll drift ’em again; if I’m improper, I’ll be again shortly. You and Miss Irma keep here-and let no responsible duck escape.” 

With a sack of mallard decoys over my shoulder, I clucked to Pat and we started the wade. I had shot in Goose Gap many a time earlier than changing into of age. However, within the years since I’d joined the membership, nobody appeared to go to Goose Gap. In all probability few members knew how one can get there, for it required some pretty powerful wading. 

Reaching a low intervening ridge, I hit off by way of pin-oak flats and excessive willows. Overhead, scads of fowl poured towards Goose Gap. The going was pretty simple and I quickly noticed the sunshine of a gap and heard the muffled rumblings of crowded, feeding waterfowl. Pat heard it too, and grinned the best way canine do. As we advert­vanced by way of head-high willows, the rumble deepened and Pat slunk extra carefully at heel. 

On the fringe of the willows I peered out throughout Goose Gap-four acres of open water that was now a strong mass of chattering waterfowl. Pat and I stood inside 15 toes of 1,000. Over the mass, different flocks hovered in search of lighting area. A sight to gladden the guts of a nature lover, it referred to as for a way of sportsmanship. Two photographs in­to that mass and the slaughter would have been terrible. 

I had lengthy identified that bombarding geese off a feeding or resting mattress pays no dividends, even in case you ignore the query of truthful play, for few if any of the geese so frightened will ever return. So now, nonetheless hid, I cupped my palms and gave a number of loud grunts. That began it. A cluck to the shivering Pat did the remainder. Tearing by way of the willows, he all however captured one terror-stricken mallard drake. Then waves of geese rose with recurring crashes, wings shattering the air with the sound of freight trains colliding. 

At my whistled directions, Pat ft scuttled again into hiding, and we watched the formations above us. Twisting flights of teal darted by way of clouds of mallards. Pintails, gadwalls, widgeon, scaup, spoonbills, and canvas­backs gyrated in confusion. The factor that amazed me most was the unbelievable variety of black geese. They weren’t so frequent on this space as different species and have been extremely prized. Now nice clusters of those darkish beauties winged above me. 

Whereas peace was settling over Goose Gap, Pat and I obtained prepared. First I made a cushty seat from a number of willow­root chunks. Then I waded out to scat­ter my dozen mallard decoys. I caught two regular-length shells loaded with the brand new powder into the equally new Fox Magnum, blew on my duck name, and marketed for patrons. Pat seemed up at me with an expression that stated, “Perhaps we shoulda shot ’em after we had the possibility.” 

With the wind at my again, I settled down to attend and watch. Irma’s gun was thumping away often. 

All of a sudden, across the level of Miller’s Island, luffed a dozen or extra black geese. Straightening. they held for Goose Gap, circled its far rim simply as soon as, noticed the decoy stool, and heard my muted invitation. In one other 10 seconds they have been over my decoys, wings backed and delicate paddles dropped. Two photographs with the heavy double folded two of these beautiful specimens, and so they splashed chunklike amongst their betrayers. Pat had them again to me in a trice. “That’s extra prefer it,” he appeared to smile. “Sustain the nice work.” 

In fast order, 5 completely different flights of black geese resought sanctuary inside Goose Gap. And every, because of the brand new hundreds and the large Fox, left a brace to Pat’s tender ministrations. Then started a wildfowl parade reminiscent of few gunners see in a lifetime. Amid all that lots, I out of the blue resolved to at­tempt a 25-duck bag restrict in black geese solely. Many mallards have been quietly shooed from the decoys. Pat watched in frowning bewilderment, whined despairingly. Scores of teal and scaup whisked by. 

The following black geese have been excessive, at an extended vary than I normally accepted. I missed with the primary shot, killed with the second barrel. I now had 13 black geese. An hour later, Pat fetched in my twenty fifth. I had shot a field (25) of regular-length hundreds and 10 of the three-inch Magazine­nums. 

And the brand new hundreds had, in reality, introduced down a number of geese so excessive I wouldn’t have shot at them with the old-line ammunition. Although Pat had needed to chase a number of, I didn’t lose a cripple. 

Geese have been nonetheless pouring into Goose Gap, however Irma had lengthy since ceased taking pictures. She and Aaron have been prob­ably ready on the entrance to Tread­properly’s. I duck-strapped my restrict of black geese into 4 bunches, sacked the decoys, tied the ensemble to a size of seine twine, and waded throughout to Miler’s Island, floating the entire load behind me. I used to be a strong beast of burden in these days, so the half-mile pack forward didn’t concern me. I used to be happy, nonetheless, to see Aaron stroll­ing up the island to fulfill me. 

“Mist’ Nash,” he greeted, “I may virtually inform by counting dem photographs what number of geese you completed kilt. Miss Irma was completed by way of, so I picked up, pulled her right down to d’ opening at Massive Lake, and are available on up heah to he’p you.” 

Characteristically, Aaron was on the proper and welcome spot. After splitting the load and reloading the Magnum, Aaron and I back-tracked alongside his path. 

As we hiked alongside the blade of Mill­er’s Island. which was about 75 yards large, I out of the blue heard a low gTun t from touring geese. Almost overhead, a bunch of honkers have been floating simply above the lacy cypress tops. They have been return­ing from sandbar pickings on the Mis­sissippi. I shrugged off my load and swung the large gun forward of a pacesetter. He wilted on the shot and began earth­ward. Leaning again pre­cariously, I compelled the gun’s tubes forward of a flare-off goose and lower unfastened once more. I shot off an intervening useless limb however noticed the large fowl crumple. 

The recoil shoved me flat on my again, the place I sprawled laughing among the many sunlit leaves. Getting up, I :Vas startled to see Aaron, minus his load of black geese and decoys, staggering about drunkenly and holding his head. “What’s the matter, Aaron?” I requested. 

“I used to be watching you’ first goose fall,” he stated, “when that snag you chop off with yo’ second barrel hit me.” He rubbed his head and grinned. Then he crouched and pointed. “Load up ­fast. Mo’ geese comin’.” 

This flight, monitoring the others, was barely skimming the treetops, and once more the brand new hundreds belted a pair to the island. Aaron and Pat have been string­ing geese like fish. Then two unreason­ably excessive bunches handed overhead, speaking to flocks on the refuge. Subsequent got here a household of seven on the unique low stage. I made a multitude of the primary shot, however downed with the second attempt. Inside 10 minutes and with the goose parade persevering with, I obtained the three extra essential for a federal bag restrict of eight geese. Two highflyers landed alive. With out Pat, I’d by no means have put them on the string. One, an amazing fowl, backed towards a cypress bole and whacked the large Chesapeake a few pinion raps throughout the nostril that set him again on his heels. Once we resumed our retreat from Miller’s Island, skeins of honkers have been nonetheless coming over. 

Seeing us emerge from the timber and begin to wade the slough with geese, geese, and decoys floating be­hind us, Irma had damaged out the alcohol range and was prepared with steaming tea and a bait of sandwiches and cookies. Weapons have been nonetheless booming from a number of blinds on Massive Lake. It was 10 :45 a.m. by the watch. 

Our load of sport, plus Pat and the decoys, sank my boat a number of inches decrease on the return journey. But it surely was a pleasure to cross the president’ s blind and discover him a number of geese wanting his restrict. By 1 o’clock we have been en path to the workplace through that luxurious gravel highway. 

These days younger gunners searching for luggage of two, 4, and eight birds a day hurtle previous Wapanoca on a 4­lane freeway. In 1890, after I shot my first mallard there, the countryside was a wilderness of virgin timber, with just a few “groundhog sawmills” whin­ing away on the vitals of tomorrow. Along with waterfowl there have been bears, deer, panthers, turkeys, wolves. For years afterward the grounds cleared by timber fallers afforded the primest of quail taking pictures. 

Now, most of this space is ditched, tile-drained, and irrigated-manicured for fields of cotton, soybeans, corn, and rice. Quail are scarce. Massive Creek, off whose excessive, forested banks our boyish shouts rang whereas combating massive bass, is now a sordid draining ditch-dried up or freshet-flooded. What have been as soon as thousands and thousands of acres of waterfowl wetlands at the moment are shrunken virtually to a degree of no return. 

However regardless of this beating up of lands for short-term income, there may be nonetheless a little bit of sport and fish left for posterity due to these sometimes-discouraged folks referred to as conservationists. Although oftentimes overwhelmed to their knees by egocentric pursuits, they received’t and might’t be licked, for they think about the longer term. 

The photographs I fired whereas Pat and I crouched within the head-high willows rim­ming Goose Gap have been heard around the sporting world. And the offspring of these check shells have since bellowed from many a Magnum just like the one I used. 

After writing my report on the check gun and ammunition, I misplaced no time in buying a 10-pound Fox Magnum of my very own. The brand new shells have been in the marketplace a yr later, and nonetheless are, ­with the label Tremendous-X. 

The final day of the 1954-55 duck season, I sat in a blind amid the rice­lands of Arkansas with my previous good friend and searching companion C. L. Penning­ton. We have been shivering, and the chilly revived reminiscences of the heat of Penny’s hospitable house in near-by Clarendon, Arkansas. I daydreamed again to the times after we sat at his desk consuming younger hen turkey in milk, a delicacy that made you curl your toes and elevate your eyes to the ceiling. Far to the northeast, Wapanoca’s expanses lay seared by drought and duckless. By luck and diligence, we had collected seven mallards. Yet another would fill our limits and provides us leeway to the hearth and scorching espresso. 

Then, down from the northwest with the wind on its tail, got here a lone black duck, like a gale-pushed ace of spades on its solution to someplace. He handed too excessive even for those self same three­inch shells in my Magnum. 

“Chances are high,” I buoyed Penny, “that hen’ll run out of seeing-water, wing round below the wind, and struggle it again this manner. He noticed our decoys. I watched him crane his neck at ’em.” 

Penny warmed his palms and fanny over the dying warmth of the charcoal bucket and hoped the black duck wouldn’t be lengthy about it. That very immediate I sighted it once more, and it was certainly coming again. 

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“Too excessive nonetheless,” Penny murmured; but it surely wasn’t too excessive for my deadly Magnum load of powder and copper-coated 4’s. It wilted at my shot and seconds later showered the decoys with an icy splash. 

“Penny,” I remarked, blowing a faint spiral of residue from the Magnum’s left tube and reaching for the weapon’s alligator-hide case, ”that magnificent black inkspot I simply dropped out yonder is identical sort of duck that fell to my first Magnum shot 34 years in the past. This one often is the final duck I’ll ever shoot.” 

Penny, together with his face all screwed up, swung round and checked out me. “It’s a darn good factor,” he chattered, “that Irma ain’t out right here with us this morn­ing. She’d fan you up one facet and down the opposite for a crack like that. Swing that duck boat round. I higher get you to the hearth fast.”