Tammy's Disappearing Jalapeño Poppers Recipe

Beyond the duck blinds, some of the best times to be had at duck camp are around the dinner table, or anywhere like-minded hunters gather to eat, drink and socialize.  Where shooting warms the gun barrels, good food and fellowship warms the spirit, regardless of whether the ducks cooperated!

The following recipe was given to me by Tammy W. F.  Among the oldest of friends, I've know Tammy since middle school and she's one of the best natural-born cooks you'll ever meet.  She came by it naturally, too: 30-something years ago, the best collection of hunting trophies within walking distance of my house hung on the stone fireplace in her family's home.  I've taken the small liberty of adding marinaded teal or dove to her recipe, but it's not necessary.  They'll dissappear just as quickly without.  Tammy's Jalapeno Poppers became instantly popular at our home, and among local duck hunting circles, most recently at the 8th Annual DuckSouth.com Teal Hunt.

Donia's Boudin Stuffed Mushrooms Recipe

The term boudin in this part of the world commonly implies boudin blanc (rice and pork), but may also mean boudin with crawfish, crab, shrimp, and rice. Most of Louisiana's cajun's do not consider boudin a sausage, but it is cased like sausage. White pepper, green onions and cayenne seem to be prevalent ingredients. Boudin is readily available most readily in southern Louisiana, particularly in the Lafayette and Lake Charles area, though it may be found nearly anywhere in Cajun Country, including eastern Texas.  Boudin is sold from convenience stores along Interstate 10 to restaurants dedicated to it, and recipes vary.  Boudin, jambalaya, gumbo, étouffée, and dirty rice are among the greatest culinary masterpieces from which southern humanity has benefitted thanks to Louisana.

The Annual Ducksouth.com Teal Hunt has evolved through time into an invite-only, potluck dinner and social the night before.  Friends from as many as 5 states convene at Willow Break lodge in Mississippi's South Delta to share their favorite hunting camp recipes, drink and swap stories early into the morning.  A few actually get up to hunt teal, but the event is not about actual hunting; it's about everything else that makes hunting camp, times with hunting friends, the absolute best of times.

Rick Daughtry, President of the West Mississippi Hunting Retriever Club in Vicksburg, Mississippi, has attended most of the annual teal socials.  He gets together a few times a year with close hunting buddies for beer drinking and boudin making, and his private-reserve boudin is an event staple.  Like Bibles in church. Like black dogs in duck blinds.  The amount of cayenne in Rick's boudin, we think, is directly proportional to

September Beginnings

September's always been my favorite month.  I was probably in my teens before realizing that Labor Day Weekend was not a national celebration of Mississippi's dove opener. Still seems like too much of a good thing to be purely coincidental.

During the pre-hunt rally of a prominent annual dove hunt in North Delta, one of our gracious hosts once commented that no one in attendance was there by accident; that a friend or family member had sincerely wanted them there.  It's true.  However simple the pageantry, or extensive the preparation, surely the truest essence of September dove hunting is family, close friends, and the kind of camaraderie that can only be experienced in parched fields become gray-streaked with mourning doves.

If there's anything better than spent gunpowder lingering in the humid air that very first afternoon, it's the smell of bacon-wrapped dove breasts over a bed of hot charcoal. One of my grandfathers used to slowly sauté doves in a spicy concoction of worcestershire sauce (woostershire being the proper enunciation), butter, lemon juice and black pepper. My mouth waters just thinking about it being ladled onto a plate of rice.  Using the exact recipe it's never as good as remembered, and I always wonder why.

I learned to shoot on a dove field.  The inception of a lifestyle.  I remain mindful of the truly great men that indoctrinated me properly into wingshooting; that instilled the virtues of shooting flighted birds, and spending times afield with those that matter most. Those 2 inveterate sportsmen always finessed their 12-bird limits early and retired to nearby shade.  Never missed the Ole Miss pre-game broadcast.  They'd nurse a beer, watch us youngsters render our own limit, or try, quietly reminisce past times or cuss the game. Old retrievers laid at their feet, panting.

If anything rivals those hallowed days, it's watching my own children's beginnings.  From the shade, I see my sons developing into capable shots.  Into vested conservationists.  Years ago they selected Delta from the litter, and now she is finally showing her years.  Bearing witness as a sacred torch passes from my predecessors' hands into theirs is a fine privilege.

Ramsey Russell's GetDucks.com

Memorial Weekend

Memorial Weekend is a 3-day family event. It always involves fishing.  In some years, and this was one of them, we are fortunate in that the weekend coincides with a full moon - the first big bluegill spawn of summer. A few cricket buckets nearly busting at the seams with chirping, 6-legged live baits, light line affixed with long shank hooks, a seat in the shade, family and the faintly-watermelon smell of spawning bluegills coming off the water on a warm, humidity-laden breeze: nothing else so perfectly inaugurates Summer.

2007 Louisiana Youth Waterfowl

Marsh hunting in Louisiana is an undertaking involving preparation and excitement. Especially when hunting is followed by fishing. Double that when it includes youth hunters. We left camp at 3:30 a.m. Our host, Jeff Anastasio, had awaken earlier than we'd planned, but whether it was because he was truly excited about the pending youth hunt or because he'd become hoarse shouting at the televised LSU versus Alabama game the preceding night, where LSU eventually pulled it out towards the end, we'll never be fully sure. In the 25-feet flats boat: 2 pirogues, check. Decoys, check. GPS, check. Waders, paddles, floatation devices, snacks, retriever, calls, lights, fishing rods, tackle, check and double checked. A pair of 20 gauge shotguns, check.  Little did we know what awaited us.

From the ramp it was about a 10 mile run down the Mississippi River. With a clear sky full of stars above, there was just enough moonlight to see well; only 2 big ships were passed and the water was otherwise smooth as silk. Which is to say, it was the Mississippi River and will forever command our utmost respect. Once off the channel and into the marsh our surroundings became enchanted. In the two-year absence of hurricane- and storm-related saltwater intrusion, the estuary was as beautiful as I could ever remember.  Lush stands of coontail, water celery, wigeon grass and duck potato were in great abundance.  The moment Jeff killed the outboard, we became immersed in a symphony of waterfowl and bird life sounds; gadwall grunts, teal and mottled duck quacks, pintail and wigeon whistles, the sounds of wings in flight, marsh hen cackles.  A shooting star burned briefly to the west as we climbed down into pirogues. The water beneath the deftly moving pirogues was inches, not feet deep. Fish left quiet wakes ahead of us. In the 10 minutes it took to reach our destination, the eastern sky had bloomed faint color. Our blind was perfectly simple: we pushed the larger pirogue into the tall, dense marsh grass. It was perfectly stable, allowing us to stand and work Lacy, Jeff's dog. The first 15 minutes or so seemed unusually quiet, still; unexpectedly void of flying and decoying waterfowl. But that soon changed. A green-winged teal winged towards the decoys and a load of 2-3/4" steel 7s stopped from Duncan's 20 gauge left it flat on the water. Squadrons of bluewinged teal, small flocks of gadwall, singles and pairs of wigeon followed. Forrest made an outstanding shot on a wigeon that swung over the decoys and fell 50 yards from the spread. Birds were plentiful. Not once was a shot called on birds further than 15 or 20 yards. It wasn't necessary. Big smiles lit our little secluded area in the marsh.  The pile grew. A lone canvasback drake tried the decoys but failed to commit. The only pintail seen, which was a big surprise to us all, was a drake that swung low over the decoys but continued onward to elsewhere in the vast marsh. Within an hour and ten minutes, a combination of gadwall wigeon, blue- and green-winged teal totaled 12. At 7:30 we high-fived and began our way to the boat.  It was time to wet a few lines.

Ramsey Russell GetDucks.com