The Great Duck Hunt

by Cameron Hodges, guest writer

EVERYONE has that special uncle, older brother, or friend that's always getting him in trouble, but is still fun to hang around with. My uncle Mike is that kind of guy, always getting the three "yard-apes," (my brother Shannon, my cousin Duncan, and me) into some sort of mischief.

My uncle brought a boat with him when he pulled in that morning, which aroused my suspicions. "Nancy, Gail, you know you two baby these boys too much. Why don't you let me take them duck hunting tomorrow morning?" asked Mike. Their reply was immediate, "No." Of course, "no" wasn't good enough for us. Eventually they agreed - on one condition: that we would only take one gun with us. With a smile, and a quick wink to us guys, uncle Mike agreed also. Still our mothers weren't satisfied, but they had made a deal.

After lunch we began to prepare for the great hunt. Duncan and I went into the back closet to get together some warm camouflage pants, jackets, gloves, and all the other clothing essential for a successful hunt. "You think we'll get anything?" asked my cousin. "I don't know, but we'll have a heck of a good time trying," I responded. Then, my brother and uncle went into the front room to get the gun and shells for the trip. This was a mistake that accidentally happened to turn out alright. You see, my brother has this way of causing trouble in an accidental sort of way. After gathering our supplies, we met out at the boat.

"You know this could be a fun and safe trip, or a dangerous trip. A gun is a very dangerous weapon if put in the hands of a careless individual. I'm going to teach you the proper way to handle and respect a gun," Mike said. Of course this message from my uncle went in one ear and out the other, though we did catch bits and pieces of it. That night we went to sleep with the same anxious feelings of small boys on Christmas Eve.

We awoke bright and early at 5 a.m. to the blasting sound of Uncle Mike's voice. "Get up, you dinosaur butts. We're going to shoot some birds." "Oooh, what time is it?" groaned Duncan. "It's late. Now get up and get dressed," Mike barked. On the way out of town we picked up some Cokes and a bag of Oreos for breakfast. For a doctor, my uncle Mike was not that big on good nutrition!

It was a cold, chilly morning. Fog blanketed everything. According to my uncle, who thought he was Marlin Perkins when it came to outdoor life, it was perfect. The drive took about 20 minutes down a winding road. "Shouldn't we be there by now?" I asked. "Heck, yes. I think we're on the wrong dang road," replied Mr. Safari. Eventually, we found the right road and headed off again. When we finally arrived at the boat ramp, the sun hadn't come up yet, and the fog was thicker than any place in the whole county. We then unloaded the boat into the water.

As the boat cut the waves, my anxiety mounted. Finally, we found a nice spot in the cover of a bunch of dead trees. My brother Shannon loaded the one gun, and the three "backups," we had brought. My cousin and I anchored the boat and put up our camouflage while my uncle put on his waders and set out the plastic decoys.

With the guns ready, the decoys out, and the camouflage up, we all took our positions. "Alright, guys, when a flock of ducks flies over, don't . . ." "Hot dang," screamed by brother as he unloaded four shells into a passing flock. "You maniac, Shannon. Are you trying to kill us?" yelled Mike. Of course he missed the ducks, but had scared the fool out of all of us. "Now Shannon, listen to me carefully," my uncle calmly explained. "When a flock of ducks flies over, let them land near the decoys and wait until they are close enough before your fire."  "Okay, I'm sorry," Shannon replied jokingly.

We sat for about twenty minutes. I could hear every little sound on the lake. The cold had just begun to creep into my fingers and toes. All of a sudden we heard the flapping of wings. "Ssh, be quiet and don't move," whispered my uncle. "Let's blow their heads off," said Shannon. "You do that and you'll be swimming back to the dock," warned my uncle. "Now sit down, and when I count to three, stand up and give 'em heck!" "Alright guys, are you ready?" whispered Mike. "One, two, three!"

From across the lake it must have sounded like World War III. All four of us were firing simultaneously. We nailed three ducks and winged two more. The two we had winged were still flapping in the water, so we reloaded and blew them away. After about an hour we decided that we had seen our last duck of the day and decided to leave. On the way back we were all hanging out the windows and yelling in excitement. "I don't know what you guys are so excited about," said my uncle Mike. "After all, I shot all the ducks!"  "Really?" asked Duncan. "Would you teach me how to kill five ducks with only three shells?"

When we arrived home, our mothers were astonished at our success. They couldn't believe how well we had done with just one gun!

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-- The guest writer, shown in the middle photo above, wrote this story when he was a boy in junior high school. Now a distinguished surgeon in Iowa, Dr. Cameron Hodges, is pictured in the bottom photograph.