Watching my children become duck hunters has renewed my enjoyment of waterfowling. Seeing the world through the wondrous eyes of youngsters is like experiencing it all again for the first time. Only better. Wintering songbirds that flit in the adjacent brush, frogs that occasionally share the pit, stray feathers or raccoon prints along the muddy shoreline, Dad slipping in the gumbo mud and especially incoming waterfowl: nothing escapes their keen observations.
It's been long enough now I've forgotten what duck hunting was like before ensuring not just myself, but sometimes four of us, arrive to the blind warm and dry, well ahead of shooting light; before the teaching of firearm safety, repeated instructions, detailed explanations, and other edicts of successful waterfowling became integral to the morning routine. It was probably quieter back in those days. I drink a lot less coffee in the blind now. But it probably wasn't nearly as fun. Nor was it as educational, usually as much for me as for them.
Early on, before they were old enough to mount and swing the full-length 20 gauge, the one with the stock lopped in half by Grandfather Russell when I was their age (to ensure "good fit"), the goal was simply letting them shoot ducks alighted on the water. It's how I started 3 decades prior. We were successful.
Decoy casualties were just part of it. Flying ducks were another story. Hitting flying targets is all about proper lead. For the most part. Sure, we all know what lead is, how it applies to swiping birds deftly from the air. Thousands of articles have extolled the virtues, mechanics, and techniques of proper lead. Entire books have been dedicated to the subject. Distance, angle, and speed are important, too. But try conveying this to a 6 or 7 year old. Well, I tried. They might be as smart and good looking as their momma, but the rudimentary tenets of physics elude them. Even as explained by dear ol' Dad.
I soon defaulted to Grandfather's tried-and-true methods: bring plenty of ammo, load a single shell at a time, give a basic explanation and with the utmost supervision let the young shooter figure it out through trial and error. That and a few well-timed, expert comments for good measure: Missed. Missed again. Behind it. Still behind it. Both eyes open. Behind! Almost. Keep your cheek down. Swing ahead. Missed. Below it. Over it. Behind it. Better. Too far. Too close. Try again, we've got shells left. Forrest, the eldest, received lessons first. It went more quickly than expected. Like swinging a baseball bat, once he'd made solid contact a few times it all came together pretty quickly.
I can remember him departing a September sunflower field that one time at age 9. He had his limit before several adult hunters. Lessons well received; well taught. Such milestones make dads proud. His first flying limit was Texas sandhill cranes. With a solid game plan, sandhill cranes work beautifully close. On that particular morning the cranes came off the roosts in small family groups, swung right into our decoys directly upwind about a half mile distant. With a single 2.75-inch load of steel fours at a time, Forrest soon acquired his 3 crane limit.
It was later that same afternoon, while jump shooting ponds for ducks that I came to truly appreciate my boy's understanding of proper lead. It became my first and most memorable shooting lesson from my children. More will likely follow. I'm sure.
With the West Texas panhandle wind blowing a typical thirty-plus miles per hour, we walked up over the levee we'd used for concealment. Several from a flock of spooked teal fell to our shots as they flushed. A few bewildered survivors made subsequent passes over the tank, presenting us briefly with some fun pass shooting. The last was a handsome drake green-wing that barreled about 35-40 yards out, at a perfectly perpendicular right to left angle. The stout tail wind effectuated the fullest blue-streak possible.
Given the opportunity to impart a little fatherly wisdom I'd have explained, without bragging too badly, that I'd lead that bird about a Cadillac's length. Maybe a tad more. But Forrest quickly claimed the prize as his own. Apparently we'd shot at the exact same instant.
But I wasn't fully convinced. After all, it was an extremely difficult shot. One I was proud of myself. So I asked how far he'd lead it. It was perfectly doubtless, to me anyway, that Forrest had shot the little, hell-bent green-wing when he declared, without a moment's hesitation, "The same amount as you."
Hunting lessons are life lessons - and it goes both ways: We've not discussed proper lead since. I learned my lesson!
Ramsey Russell's GetDucks.com
Early on, before they were old enough to mount and swing the full-length 20 gauge, the one with the stock lopped in half by Grandfather Russell when I was their age (to ensure "good fit"), the goal was simply letting them shoot ducks alighted on the water. It's how I started 3 decades prior. We were successful.
Decoy casualties were just part of it. Flying ducks were another story. Hitting flying targets is all about proper lead. For the most part. Sure, we all know what lead is, how it applies to swiping birds deftly from the air. Thousands of articles have extolled the virtues, mechanics, and techniques of proper lead. Entire books have been dedicated to the subject. Distance, angle, and speed are important, too. But try conveying this to a 6 or 7 year old. Well, I tried. They might be as smart and good looking as their momma, but the rudimentary tenets of physics elude them. Even as explained by dear ol' Dad.
I soon defaulted to Grandfather's tried-and-true methods: bring plenty of ammo, load a single shell at a time, give a basic explanation and with the utmost supervision let the young shooter figure it out through trial and error. That and a few well-timed, expert comments for good measure: Missed. Missed again. Behind it. Still behind it. Both eyes open. Behind! Almost. Keep your cheek down. Swing ahead. Missed. Below it. Over it. Behind it. Better. Too far. Too close. Try again, we've got shells left. Forrest, the eldest, received lessons first. It went more quickly than expected. Like swinging a baseball bat, once he'd made solid contact a few times it all came together pretty quickly.
I can remember him departing a September sunflower field that one time at age 9. He had his limit before several adult hunters. Lessons well received; well taught. Such milestones make dads proud. His first flying limit was Texas sandhill cranes. With a solid game plan, sandhill cranes work beautifully close. On that particular morning the cranes came off the roosts in small family groups, swung right into our decoys directly upwind about a half mile distant. With a single 2.75-inch load of steel fours at a time, Forrest soon acquired his 3 crane limit.
It was later that same afternoon, while jump shooting ponds for ducks that I came to truly appreciate my boy's understanding of proper lead. It became my first and most memorable shooting lesson from my children. More will likely follow. I'm sure.
With the West Texas panhandle wind blowing a typical thirty-plus miles per hour, we walked up over the levee we'd used for concealment. Several from a flock of spooked teal fell to our shots as they flushed. A few bewildered survivors made subsequent passes over the tank, presenting us briefly with some fun pass shooting. The last was a handsome drake green-wing that barreled about 35-40 yards out, at a perfectly perpendicular right to left angle. The stout tail wind effectuated the fullest blue-streak possible.
Given the opportunity to impart a little fatherly wisdom I'd have explained, without bragging too badly, that I'd lead that bird about a Cadillac's length. Maybe a tad more. But Forrest quickly claimed the prize as his own. Apparently we'd shot at the exact same instant.
But I wasn't fully convinced. After all, it was an extremely difficult shot. One I was proud of myself. So I asked how far he'd lead it. It was perfectly doubtless, to me anyway, that Forrest had shot the little, hell-bent green-wing when he declared, without a moment's hesitation, "The same amount as you."
Hunting lessons are life lessons - and it goes both ways: We've not discussed proper lead since. I learned my lesson!
Ramsey Russell's GetDucks.com
No comments:
Post a Comment