lots more great pics and reports boys. when do you return home?
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lots more great pics and reports boys. when do you return home?
Last Friday night
Talk about a temperature change
Sheesh
Been back for a while J. I have to take the GRE next Saturday, so there's going to be a wait for the rest of my stories while I cram. To be continued...
That took some reading, and worth every minute. What an amazing adventure you guys got to have together. I can just imagine the laughs and fun that was had. Great pictures as well.
What's next for you two?
awesome pictures and stories guys!
Back to the STAs. The plan for months has been a weekend of canned hunts at the STAs, but my cousin who held the Sunday permit welched on us Friday. Four hours was "too far" to drive. His father pointed out that we had driven 24 hours and that we were counting on him to come, but I didn't want to hunt with him if he was going to be unhappy about it. So, we went on the Saturday hunt unsure of what we'd do Sunday. This time, my uncle would be along for the hunt. He didn't need to come, and isn't very into duck hunting, but says he likes to get out once. He bought his license and all of his stamps for 1 afternoon in the marsh. And he usually doesn't choose to pull the trigger much. Not this time!
We stopped at the storage facility to swap the boat for the canoe. Then off to Publix for Hawaiian sweet rolls, lunch meats and sweet tea. We got into line as the fifth truck at the STA. I had hoped to be a higher pick, since this time I knew exactly the spot I wanted to pick. Luckily, as we waited, one of the vehicles in front of us left: they had parked in the wrong spot earlier in the day. I conferred with the guys in the first three vehicles and confirmed plans. I find it much easier to communicate with those in front of me than just try to all jockey for the same spots in the marsh. The plan changed last minute and had us taking our #2 choice of parking spots, but the guys who were going to chose the #1 spot said they were going somewhere else in the marsh, so we were still good to go. Saw a handful of familiar faces on their way out, including one who hunted the same spot I was gunning for and said it went well.
After lunch, stories and the picking of spots, we took off. Brandon and my uncle John dropped me off with the kayak so I could hustle out to the desired blind. I figured I could bear some of the load, so took some decoys, water bottles, etc in the sled. It sounded sound. Until I took a sharp turn and the sled tipped, capsized and sank. I didn't notice right away. The kayak became very hard to paddle. With every stroke, I could feel the bungee link stretch and then the kayak would regress. I turned around to see a sled underwater, some decoys floating above it and a trail of gear in the water behind me. I circled back to get the marsh stool. That's when I saw the water bottle. When I got there, I spotted another. I picked up the items, and got back on track. I could see that the decoys were floating above the sled turned drogue, but they appeared tangled up in the rigging and should stay put. As I made my turn, they came loose. I made another circuit, retrieving all but 2 sets of TX rigs which were still attached to the sled (1 tangled, 1 clipped). I opted to push on to shallow water so I could get out and remedy the issue. I reached shallow water only to see that the unclipped decoys had come loose. I shouted at the boys in frustration: "I ain't getting those! You get them!" In hindsight, it must have been a humorous scene. But at the time, I was anything but tickled.
After floating the sled and reloading all of the gear, I paddled on to the blind. I surveyed the spot. Flushed a few tight groups of teal as I pushed through the cattails on the other side of the island. John and Brandon hung out by the truck for a while before Brandon parked it a couple hundred yards away and returned to the canoe. The two paddled out to join me. We set out mostly coot and teal, with a couple pintail and wigeon out just for good measure. I had left a few coot out on the other side of the island so that a late arrival of hunters wouldn't unwittingly set up on the same island as us. As we approached the 2pm start time, I headed over to pick up that knot of blocks. There were ducks there again! I decided to hang out a while. I communicated this with the other guys and we clarified shooting angles.
I had the sun to my back and ducks flying by. It took a few ducks before I identified the flight path. And then it only took a few ducks to have a few ducks in the bag. I picked drakes and got 3 drake blue-wings and a hen on a reaction shot. Could have sworn that she was a he in the split second before I shot. I headed back to join the group and urged Brandon to swap out with me. I hadn't heard much shooting and figured that he hadn't gotten many.
The fault in my logic was failing to account for his improved shooting. He had a pair of teal already. Uncle John hadn't fired. He was content to enjoy the show from his chariot. See, he no longer owns waders, so he just hung out in the canoe. He wore his blue jeans and that vest I always remember him wearing on hunts.
Brandon and I swapped. I mostly just sat in the canoe and chatted with my uncle. I was saving my last couple birds for what I hoped was to come. After an hour, Brandon returned. He hadn't shot much during his stint, but had seen some nice drake big ducks swimming at the next island for a while. We regrouped and waited.
And then it happened. A little late to be considered clockwork, but the natives started getting restless. Small flocks could be seen moving about in the closed cell. They weren't ready to run the gambit yet, but they were warming up. The small flocks grew more numerous and some larger flocks started moving about and settling down again. But then, a single flock of about seven left the safety of the closed cell. Brandon wanted confirmation. His uncertainty was warranted. I confirmed. Positive ID on blackbellies.
The birds came towards us with their funny flight. More like a wading bird than a duck or goose. They came over high, too high. But now Brandon knew what he was looking for. And listening for. It was hard to ignore the chorus of whistling. When the next flock came over at 35 yards, I called the shot. Uncle John even got in on the action this time. We dropped 4. I was scurrying about making the retrieve on one out in the decoys when another flock came around. They weren't on the right flight line, but a distant shot turned them over us. We took 2 more.
And just like that, we had a half-dozen blackbellies in our bag for the day. More flocks came. Many more flocks. Several hundred blackbellies came over us, but it was much akin to shooting CO snows: they knew the safe altitude and didn't depart from it. Admittedly, I got excited a couple times and took shots that were too far. After missing those, we just watched and hoped that they would come lower. They didn't but the show was impressive. As many blackbellies were flying over us were also flying over two other flight lines. There were thousands making the trek from the sanctuary across the STA to the rice fields. We had seen them flying about the rice crop the week prior. In the distance, they had looked like flies on a pile. Now, they were a tide moving over the marsh.
We capped it with another Pollo Tropical dinner and then hit the road. By the time we got home, fatigue was setting in. We levied sleep against the potential to get drawn at an STA as a walk-on Sunday. We would use the morning to gear up for the final Florida stage of our journey: Lake Okeechobee.
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Probably my favorite hunt of the trip.
Managing to snap 2 x BBWD's and a few nice looking teal was outdone by the funny conversations with Uncle John.
We - uncle John and I - watched rather silently as john paddled his way to the spot. It was easy to see where he went as there was a trail of stuff floating behind him. Decoys, a backpack, a camelback. .. at first we said something along the lines of, "maybe we should help him out"
Uncle John thouht it may be funnier to get the camera instead
We didnt get to snap any pictures as we decided through the frustration in Johns voice - that it wou would have been upsetting even more to snap a few pics of the comedy of errors that was happening in front of us.
Instead, we muttered hilariously under our breath, each making a comment about John's misfortune.
All in good fun though.
We picked up the remaining decoys and met him at the blind.
I tried to let Uncle John shoot the first bird that came in, but being in the canoe he wasn't able to shoot over his right shoulder.
A single bwt came by for a second pass and he gave me the green light to take it, and I did dropping it with 1 shot. It landed head up in the decoys and started swimming towards me.
Uncle John said "you'll have to shoot it again"
"One second" I replied.
I shouldered the SX2 and fired.
Uncle John chuckled "how did you miss?"
Just as another BWT drake came down to the water stone dead.
By that time the crippled teal was 10ft from me and walking out to it I put hands on and got them both back in the canoe.
John covered most of the story quite well ^
It was pretty cool seeing john and his uncle hunting together - something I'm working on getting my family into.
This was a nice way to finish Miami hunting.
Good hunts, good conversations, and some good pics to boot!
I got spoiled on this trip
Thanks John =)
Next up was Lake O. Not Ontario, Okeechobee. After my cousin cancelled our Sunday hunt, we decided the day would be best spent heading up to the lake, getting settled in there and scouting a bit. A handful of delays slowed us down. None more frustrating than the trailering situation. We had become complacent with the boat cover during the last transit and it broke free at the aft end of the boat. Flapping on the highway for over 100 miles, it tore itself apart. I figured that much and had regarded the cover as a one trip pony. What I hadn't anticipated was the damage that a flapping cover can do. It had ripped the cowling off the mudmotor. So we headed to Lowes and tried to come up with a solution to cover the air intake in case we encountered rain (which we did). Working on that, we noticed something else odd. The dipstick was gone. Just plain gone. The cover must have pulled it out too. We capped that with some rubber and a hose clamp, covered the motor with some heavy duty plastic and hit the road. We failed to notice that the throttle cable had also broken free of it's retainers and was resting on the exhaust. While scouting later, it melted and the throttle became unresponsive at full tilt. Luckily I noticed in a controlled situation before I needed to stop.
Every 5 miles, we had to stop and tie something down better. All things that normally ride in the boat fine. But I guess the topper I have on my truck is a pretty good windbreak and Brandon's is just a tonneau cover. When we got everything secured, we pressed on to Sonny's BBQ. There aren't many better pick-me-ups out there than AYCE Sonny's. We almost asked the hostess what ayce was (maybe an exotic spice) before we figured it out ourselves. She said they get that a lot.
Then on to the Rice motel. What a find! My original reservation was for the Best Western at $120 a night CAA rate. Then I was reminded that someone had recommended the Rice motel. My recollection was that it was a run-down looking place, but I figured I'd check the rate anyway. Forty-five dollars a night! The owner warned us that the place was rough, but for that price it would be hard to go wrong. We were impressed by how decent the place was. The room was old (1950s old), but was clean, well furnished and spacey. The appliances and shower worked fine. The owner was a delight and kept checking in on our hunting progress throughout the trip. She even offered her freezer for us to use to store our trophy birds.
After we moved in, we headed down to the lake. It was getting late, but I figured that we had just enough time to make it down the Moore Haven canal to the Monkey Box. It had been a few years since I ran the lake, so I wanted to at least familiarize myself with the terrain before heading out in the dark the next morning. Boy was I glad I did! Most of the marsh accesses that I usually use were dry. And the Monkey Box, which had been a giant, open bay the last time I was there, was now a marsh. I would have been so turned around if we hadn't seen it in daylight first. We ran for about an hour and saw more ducks in that hour than we had in the Glades. We found a spot that was holding about 100 ringers, so we marked it for the morning. When I couldn't see the lifting birds unless they flew directly into the waning light of dusk, we headed back in.
The next morning, we ran the calm waters of the canal. So much more relaxing than battling an icy chop, that's for sure. The canal has two turns in it over 6 miles and is otherwise engineer-straight. As a kid, I would often lock the throttle, lay back and steer with my feet. We found the slough where we lifted the birds the day prior. Sucks to flush them the night before, but it was necessary to see the marsh. Plus it helped to buoy hopes. We set out about 4 dozen ringer and bluebill decoys. The magnum scaup really stood out in the vegetation.
We were buzzed just before legal by a handful of singles. We had one circle a few times and land just out of range. Then legal was accompanied by dense fog and what we did see was upon us too quickly for a reaction more organized than "OOOOOOH!" The sun rose and we paused to take in the scene. When I turned back to the west, I spotted a pair of teal coming over the bullrush. They were upon us fast. I missed, but Brandon connected. The bird fell behind us and I was in the water as fast as a labrador. Brandon kept his eye on the spot as I made my way through the waist deep water. When I arrived at the spot, I didn't see a duck. I stood still and about a minute later, heard a splash. Turned and caught a glimpse of tail feathers. The bird was 5 yds away. To close for a shot, too far to reach. I chased after him until he became tangled in some vegetation and was retrieved.
We had some blackbellies come near us, but just out of range. A few more ringers flew about the marsh, but nothing compared to what we saw the night prior. We were entertained by a fearless sora which was hopping lily pads just under the gunwales of the boat at one point. It was joined by a gallinule, both birds balancing on some lily pads and flipping others to look for insects.
We packed up and commenced the full scouting trip. We ran around the Monkey Box, out to Point of Reef and into Moonshine "Hole". Jeez, I remember Moonshine being miles of lily pads. Ringer central. Now, walls to wall cattails and bullrush for miles. Guess the water has been lower for a while and the vegetation has finally caught up. The people in control of water in FL used to keep the lake high, for fear of running short. The lake serves as the backup water source for most of S. FL, second only to the Biscayne Aquifer which flows from GA to the end of the state just below the surface. After Katrina, they started keeping the water level lower for fear of a hurricane blowing out the antique levee system (one of the longest in distance in the world). This was a boost for the lake, which had essentially drowned in the high water years. It's not back completely, as there are numerous other issues affecting the lake, but it does seem to have benefited from the low water.
After Moonshine, we tried some of the other access points of the canal. They were too shallow to run for very long and some of my prior ringer holes had become pasture. The scout was fun. It was neat to see how drastically the lake had changed in just a few years. We had also found some ducks earlier in the scout. They were amassed with the rafts of tens of thousands of coots out in the open water over hydrilla and other SAV mats. Perfect layout boat territory, but we didn't bring one. We picked an island on the periphery of the rafts for the next hunt.
We took it easy that afternoon and made the pilgrimage to Golden Corral in the evening. It's a 45 minute drive that I used to make with dad every weekend during duck season. Brandon endured my many stories. Uncle John going to the bathroom to "make room" for more food. Me stuffing my pockets with yeast rolls and chocolate chip cookies for the next morning's hunt. It's all about rolling them in the butter, Brandon!
We also made use of the wi-fi while there. We were reluctant to check the weather, but did, and saw that there was some nasty weather hitting the NE on Saturday. We'd have to make it home before that, or be rushed to make it back to work after. We decided that it was time to get home. Although there was snow, ice and cold waiting for us there, so to would be our wives and Brandon's young son. We'd leave Thursday morning and try to make the return in 2 days. That left us with 2 more days to enjoy the lake...
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Nice spot actually
We had the room on the right
The next morning we got to "sleep in". We unhitched the trailer and left the hotel around 8am. We drove around to the other side of the lake and parked at Slim's Fish Camp. After we watched a truck pulling a silver and blue airboat trailer wheel around to a boat ramp across the canal, we realized we were in the wrong spot. We zipped over and met up with John, the owner of the airboat, at the other ramp. He and his friend we loading up the safety gear in the airboat. They also tossed in a rifle in case we came across any pigs.
After introductions, we all donned pfds, jumped on the boat and idled out of the marina. Once we cleared the no wake signs, John let the stoker motor roar. We hopped up on plane and slid off towards the marsh. I had never run the marsh on that side of the lake. I had hunted somewhere over there once, but never run through the vegetation. It was very different than what I was used to. Lots of dense, broad-leafed vegetation and brush. John navigated us among the narrow channels that weaved a labyrinth through the marsh. From the front seat, we couldn't see his next turns, but elevated just a couple feet, he was able to make decisions on where to turn and what to jump. And we did jump. A few channels didn't extend through to the intersection with another, so he powered us over whatever got in the way.
It seemed as if we were wandering aimlessly. A left here, a right there. A few turnarounds. I figured we were out for an hour or so round trip. But John had a destination in mind and he was plotting a haphazard course in that general direction. He knew where he wanted to be, but he had to find a way there, making forward progress when the channels allowed it and trying to keep moving when they didn't. Then, out of nowhere, land.
He made a U-turn, aimed for the dry ground, and throttled the boat up onto the shore. Then we saw it. The treehouse. There was a camp wedged among the many branches of a giant banyan tree. He explained that the camp is owned by the local airboat association and serves as a safe shelter should one get caught out on the lake in unsafe conditions. Airboats don't like wind or waves. We took a tour of the camp. There was room for a handful of guys to rack out and stay dry if it got nasty out. We shared stories as we surveyed the island. John explained that his hunting partner, his daughter, had gone from picking out a duck boat to becoming a vegan in a matter of weeks. Not having her to go with had zapped his drive to hunt and he hadn't been out much since. I could relate, and hope that he has a spark to go again.
The conversation carried on for a while at the island. The four of us were just having a good time chatting. John tossed Brandon and I some Cheerwine, a North Carolina soda product. Closest thing I could compare it to was Cherry Coke. We picked up some litter and then hopped back on the boat. No matter of rudder wiggling and throttle revving was going to get us broken free from the dry ground, so three of us jumped off and heave-hoed the bow until the boat slid forward to the water. John turned it around and we boarded. Then we slipped through a cut into a field of stubble.
And THEN THIS HAPPENED!!!
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Followed by THIS!!!
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I had been on airboats, but never at the stick. Brandon is a bonafide gear nut, so he was in heaven. With so much power under the pedal, you want to go easy. But John reached back and insisted otherwise, pressing out foot and the pedal underneath to the floor. He explained that you have to gun it to get through the torque twist and up on plane. You could really feel the boat twist when you gave it gas, just wanting to rip free from the hull. Not sure that we got the hang of it, but we did glide around the shallows for a bit without incident.
The forecasted front moved in and the winds kicked up just like clockwork. We had been on the water for a few hours. John turned back towards the marsh and put up a sizable flock of teal. We pushed onward through a wall of bullrush. Not just a thin divider between 2 channels, a wall of 8-10' tall grass that went on for over 100 yds. The boat didn't skip a beat, the polymer underside slipping effortlessly over the grass. We finally broke through to a trail and followed it back to the rim canal, where we saw first-hand that airboats don't like any chop. The ride back was bumpy, and some gusts had a noticeable effect on our course, but John expertly steered us back to the launch. More stories were shared once the boat was on it's bunks, but eventually hunger took over and we went our separate ways. It was a surreal day. The ride was great, but the camaraderie was the key for me.
More vids from the ride:
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