Charley Webb outdoors: Charley Webb describes a Lowcountry duck hunt
Charley Webb describes a Lowcountry duck hunt
It’s that time of the year when I’m getting ready. “Ready for what?”, you might ask. Well, the fall season, if you can call what we have a season. We have no colorful leaves, geese flying south or first snows, all of which must only happen north of the Mason-Dixon. Lowcountry fall means surf fishing, dove shoots, oyster roasts, deer drives, flounder gigging, duck blind cleaning, shrimp casting and gnat slapping. Couple that with football bragging, whiskey sipping and trout fishing and there is just a lot to get ready for and enjoy.
Havilah Babcock, the famous outdoor writer and story teller once said, “My health is always better in November.” Now there is a dude that was tuned in. Think I’ll have Dr. Laffitte give me a check-up just to prove Babcock was right.
As I was cruising down Kinlock Road out in Dale yesterday and passed Wimbee Landing Road, I recalled a Lowcountry fall saga that might tickle your funny bone. It goes like this and it’s not stretched, fact-truth, I swear.
It was over Thanksgiving holiday and the duck hunting season opening day was on the same day that we all eat too much turkey, dressing and pumpkin pie. We all had to promise our parents that we would return from hunting in time to celebrate with the family. The night before, Neil Trask, Bo Mitchell, Mac Mitchell, Billy Aimar, Van Aimar, Owen, aka De Crab Man, Webb and I decided to camp at Wimbee and get a jump on any other hunters that might try to claim our secret hunting spots the next morning.
We stacked three questionable duck boats on an even more questionable boat trailer, hitched the whole rig up to the “Silver Star”, Mac’s one of a kind Studebaker, and limped out of town to the Wimbee boat landing. All went as planned and we camped in a junked Greyhound bus that belonged to several old time duck hunters, Arthur Paul, J.M. Koth (of Koth’s Grocery) and Bob McDowell.
We had their permission to use the camp along with a majority of the rodent family that side of Dale. A midnight rat shoot with pistols inside a bus makes for good sport and sharpened our shooting eyes for ducks in the morning.
I can’t say that we awoke the next morning because I don’t remember ever going to sleep. Needless to say, we were the first hunters in the marsh on a cold, rainy Thanksgiving morning, just the kind of weather that ducks love and only fools go out in.
We decided to split up and hunt three different blinds. At Wimbee they all had their own unique names that most of the locals knew–The Avenue, Shortcut, Farrel Creek, Teal Hole, The Hotel, etc.
We had to tow Bo and Billy as their boat had no motor. The shortest distance was to Shortcut so we left them there in the pre-dawn darkness. Van and Owen had their own blind on Cut-Through, and Neil, Mac and I hunted The Hotel. It was colder and wetter that we initially figured. We could hear other hunters’ boats motoring about but knew we already had the choice locations.
Just before dawn it was still and quiet. We heard someone shout “Oh, #*!$%&!” followed by a splash, then some laughing and some more cussing. Some unlucky hunter was having a damp morning. Oh well, all for the ducks!
Finally, we had a brace of widgeon working our decoys. Neil and I had guns in the ready position and I whispered to Mac to join us. Mac was eating his duck blind breakfast–a leftover box of Kentucky Fried Chicken. He looked at the ducks and then back at his drumstick. Then he looked up at me and said “Bird in the hand is worth two in the bush” and kept on eating.
As I recall, I got to laughing and missed the ducks with both barrels of the old Parker shotgun. Neil managed to bring one down. We had a few more flights decoy in that morning and had mallards, black ducks and a widgeon in the game bag.
Just as shooting was getting good we could hear a cry for help across the marsh. “Help, help, help! Come get us!” It sounded a lot like Bo and Billy.
We cranked up the five-horse and made our way back to Shortcut. As we rounded the bend in the creek we could see them about waist deep in the chilly water but couldn’t see their boat. It was right below them, sunk to the bottom.
When Roger Pinckney lent it to us, he didn’t tell us it leaked. Without a bailing can they slowly went down. They were wet and cold but not so cold that Billy couldn’t shoot a black duck from the hip after which he swam out to retrieve it.
Back at the bus, the rats that we didn’t shoot and Bo and Billy enjoyed the warmth of a good trash and old mattress fire. Owen and Van came in with several ducks and we packed up to head home.
Mac backed the “Silver Star” down the landing to load up the boats and that was the last and final move she ever made. Naturally the tide was coming in and we were at the bottom of the boat landing. Mac commented that it was high time the car had a good wash job anyway.
As luck would have it, another hunter arrived at the landing and could see our dilemma. Seven cold, wet hunters with three junk boats and what used to be a classy vehicle, all stuck with the rising tide threatening. We managed to double up three dog leash chains for a tow line, and he pulled us up the landing to safety above the high tide mark.
Our next task was to find a substitute vehicle to tow the whole junk heap back to town in time for Thanksgiving dinner. Bo caught a ride back into Beaufort and commandeered a truck from the Mitchell Brothers fleet and we hitched up and headed home.
Just as we were passing Coley’s Ranch Drive-In, Owen said “It would be just our luck if the boat trailer broke down.” At about that same instant there was a loud crash and as we slowed down, the right side boat trailer tire rolled past us. The turkey was on the table and we were going to be late for sure.
About that time, an old geezer who was sleeping off the night before in the Coley’s parking lot came out to survey the situation. We told him the whole story beginning with our night hunt for rats. He started laughing so hard we thought he was going to choke. He almost did until he spit his full set of dentures out on the road. He popped them back in and helped us rig the trailer good enough to get us home.
Ahhh, turkey, dressing, pumpkin pie and a good long power nap. What a great way to end a Lowcountry duck hunt!
Charley Webb is a Beaufort native who writes an occasional column for The Beaufort Tribune when he is not otherwise busy in the great out of doors or operating Kinghorn Insurance of Beaufort.
Photo credit: Christiana Cohn – flickr
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