Song of Suzies
Page 30
“Then let’s plan it. We traditionally go up Thursday after work and come home after the morning hunt on Sunday. We don’t hunt after one p.m. so there’s lots of time for listening to the Orangemen or real football and family stuff in the afternoon...
“We’re in,” I interrupted him, “and thank you.”
“Tell Sandy that Roberta wants to talk with her, okay?”
“Hold on, I’ll get her. I’m on the garage phone, so it’ll take a few seconds.”
And that lead to Wayne, Chris and I sitting in a duck blind on the prettiest cattail marsh I’d ever seen in upstate New York.
And while the massive migration of mallards that normally flows through the Montezuma National Wildlife Refuge hadn’t started yet, that fall of 1986 found plenty of birds “trading one spot for another” on opening morning.
Ducks were landing in front of the blind as we set the decoys in the dark, and Wayne’s Labrador Retriever, Rip, couldn’t help but whine as he saw the birds fluttering down and bouncing back up again as we waded among the decoy spread.
The first few minutes of legal shooting time found the birds responding to Wayne’s call, and we had two early flights that each left six birds belly up for Rip’s attention.
Then, as often happens in the early season, things settled down, and the conversation that I call “blind talk” started with Chris commenting on the inequity of my having left Hans home for the weekend.
“Despite his willingness and ability to retrieve, I’ve never considered Hans a duck dog,” I said in a quiet voice. “I certainly wouldn’t want him to ruin Rip’s party.”
“It was Jim’s call,” Wayne informed Chris. “I told him Hans was welcome.”
“And I told your Dad that when we go after pheasants later this fall, you can bring Rip too if you want, but he’s going to get real tired trying to keep up with an Energizer Vizsla.”
“No, that’ll be Hans’s party. You’re right. Rip is better in the pheasant cover than no dog, but I just love to shoot over pointers, and that Hans is a remarkable upland talent.”
I started to respond and saw a flight of birds some half a mile east of us, riding on the south wind. They looked like a squadron of fighters, just black silhouettes at that distance.
I fingered my call for a moment, and then put it to my lips and hailed them as loudly as I knew how.
Wayne watched and I hailed them again. “You really think you can reach out and touch those boys at that distance?”
I didn’t answer; just hailed them again with the three stretched out, one-note calls.
“I learned a bit about duck calling last year, from Max Hennessey,” I said as we watched all six of the ducks turn our way and start flapping their wings. I hailed them again, and after a few seconds they seemed to respond by turning more into the wind and working towards us.
“What did Hennessey know about duck calling?”
“Well...” I started to say, and then I gauged that the ducks were turning the cross wind leg and were going to fly over us as they inspected our location for a possible landing.
After they’d swung past us, flying down wind, I gave them another shout, and we heard one of the suzies call back in response, and both Wayne and his boy gave out with groans of appreciation.
The birds turned back into the wind. They’d cut the distance to a couple hundred yards. I put the call back to my lips and hit them with the five-note “lonesome hen” call. Four of the six locked their wings; the other two seemed hesitant, and I hit them again, but this time I added my own “get-your-ass-down-here” inflection to the loud, raspy call, and all six birds firmed up their formation.
We watched as they zoomed steadily closer, and then they started using their webbed feet as rudders, and we could see them eying the decoys.
“I’ll be damned,” Crosby whispered. “You ready, Chris? Jim?”
I hit them one more time with the call, and they started falling out of the sky like leaves, extending their feet to meet the water, completely committed to landing in our “kill slot.”
“Take ’em!” Crosby muttered, “Left, right and center!” The three of us stood up and our first shots made one big roar.
Crosby lighted his pipe as we watched Rip bringing the ducks back one by one. “So, Jim, what did Max Hennessey teach you about duck calling?”
“Well, it wasn’t so much about ducks, but I learned something important just the same.”
“And that is?”
“You can’t know the answer until you ask the question.”
-30-
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dave Balcom spent his adult life as an award winning journalist, writing, editing, and photographing local news and sports for community newspapers in a career that spanned 35 years and eight states. When he was no longer involved in the newspaper business, he turned to writing Jim Stanton Mysteries to satisfy his passion for writing. He and his wife, Susie, have two happily married children and a spoiled Yellow Labrador retriever to dote on between visits with their grandchildren. Like their hero, they love the outdoors; foraging, hunting and fishing at every opportunity.
Have you read all of the Jim Stanton Mysteries?
Paperbacks or as E-Books wherever books are sold
The Next Cool Place
The first Jim Stanton Mystery
Jim revisits his childhood haunts to solve a deadly mystery and finds the answer to the question of “how tough is tough enough” right next to him throughout the story.
Acorn
Never falls far from the oak
One iconic Eastern Oregon ranch family. two mysteries 77 years apart, and questions play the definitive role in both solutions.
Sea Change
The final installment in the trilogy that launched the Jim Stanton Mysteries
Battered, broken, and bruised Jim comes back off the canvas to still kicking as he finds answers to his deepest held questions.
Even When You Win
There is often a price to pay.
Jim and Jan answer a call for help from a couple who have won a $5,000-a-week-for-life sweepstakes prize for themselves and for one of their offspring only to be threatened that if they don’t pick the right beneficiary, all of their youngsters will die.
Fear at First Glance
Reliving shadows from the past
Jan’s high school class reunion puts Jim squarely in the sights of a madman who turns her Northern Michigan homecoming into a macabre quest for revenge.
Code Matters
In matters of moral codes, all codes matter
Jim and Jan find themselves defending the most indefensible of Jim’s acquaintances; a man who turned his intellect into a breach of everything that matters in Jim’s personal code of ethics.