Before I get started, I need to apologize for some of the explicit language used in this post. I tend to curse sometimes when I hunt, but I assure it is with poetic diction and taste if there is such a thing. Remember, I want to write about exactly what happened over the course of this past duck season - the good, the bad and the ugly. And the incident I’m about to describe falls into all three of these categories. Personally, I find it to be one of the funniest events I’ve been a part of in quite some time. Maybe you’ll find some humor in it as well, just maybe...
The past several seasons, we’ve leased blinds on Reelfoot Lake located in northwest Tennessee. (Reelfoot Lake info) The previous two seasons, the water levels were extremely low during hunting season. When I say low, I’m talking about blinds that were not even reachable by boat and water levels that made running an outboard very tough. Hunters could barely go faster than idle speed due to the huge cypress stumps and knees that endlessly dotted the lake.
The morning of this particular incident was no different than any other morning at the ‘Foot. There was a low ceiling fog with no wind at all. Dad, Travis, and I loaded our gear in the trucks and headed to Kirby’s Pocket from Samburg where we stayed to launch the boat. Kirby’s Pocket is a very small inlet from the lake - probably only 12 yards wide and fairly shallow when the lake is on normal winter pool.
Now, every duck hunter has their own routine when it comes to preparing their boat for launch from the ramp. My routine and Dad’s routine sometimes differ when getting the boat ready. We were each performing our separate routines on my boat simultaneously. Translation: I thought Dad was taking care of things that he was not and Dad thought I was taking care of things that I was not. So word to the wise: It’s better if ONE person handles the boat prep before launch.
I pulled the truck around and started backing the boat into the water like normal. It slid off the rails like a champ and into the water she went. After parking the truck and trailer, I walked back down to the ramp as other hunters and guides were loading their boats and preparing for launch as well.
As I approached the boat, Dad and Travis had already pulled it up to the bank. I walked to the stern of the boat (that’s the back of the boat for all you non-boating people) and saw water standing on the floor.
I turn to Dad and ask: “Where did all this water come from?”
Dad responds: “Did you put the plug in?”
And I immediately say, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me?!”
So I quickly got out and ran back to the truck. My plan was to back the truck into the water again so we could pull the boat out. Looking back, I should have just reached down and put the plug in, but hindsight is 20/20. Needless to say, I panicked a little as this was the first time something like this had ever happened to me. There wasn’t a lot of water in the boat at that time, but enough for me to get the hell back to the truck.
I backed the trailer into the water for the second time. Our goal was to pull the boat out and park on the ramp in an elevated position in order for all the water to drain out the plug hole. Pretty simple, right? Not so much. As Dad pushed the boat off the bank to pull it back onto the trailer, the bow rope (Again, for all you non-boating people, the bow is the front end of the boat.) comes off the clip. Now, stay with me here. Dad pushed my boat off the bank and was left just standing there, holding a limp rope, as my plugless boat drifted off into the darkness. Now, I have never come across anything in this world worth a damn when it’s limp, if you know what I mean. I kid you not, it was like slow motion. I look at the limp ass rope he is holding and then look at him. Dad has an expression on his face that says “ Oh yeah, we are fucked now.....”
I look at him and say: “Is this really fucking happening to us right now? We are like some Goddamn tennis shoe wearing weekend hunters. Jesus Christ! We are better than this! You taught me better than this Dad!”
Dad, with a slight grin of shock on his face, quickly retorts: “I’m fucking 60 years old! I can’t remember my fucking name!”
All I could do was laugh at that very moment. I remember thinking how shocked I was because that comment caught me so off guard I couldn’t say anything. How can a person get mad when their father drops that line on them? My blood pressure had to have broken the speed of sound. I could feel the veins in my head bulging out. I struggled like an ape to get my float coat off, all the while thinking I was gonna have to wade out there and fish the son of a bitch out of the water.
Luckily, there were two local men in their boat watching this cluster fuck unravel in front of them. Lord only knows what they were thinking watching this, but they were kind enough to help us. They paddled to our boat and pushed it back towards us and we were able to grab it and load it back onto the trailer. Thankfully, Kirby’s Pocket isn’t very big or I have no doubt she would have went to the bottom right there before our eyes. I got in the truck and pulled the trailer out of the water so the water could drain out the plug hole. It took about 15 minutes for all the water to drain out. Everything at the stern of the boat was floating. As the water was draining out of the boat, all Dad would say to me was, “ Hey! It’s your boat Captain......it’s your boat!”
“My boat?”, I reply, “ I thought you put the plug in it?”
“Hell, I thought you put the plug in it!”, he said. 'Til this very day when I tell this story all my father says is, “It’s your boat Captain! It’s your boat!” All I do is laugh about it now. I didn’t realize how funny it was ‘til after it happened of course.
Every duckhunter at one point or another will probably experience something similar to this if they do it long enough. My day just happened to be that day. These events are what make this sport so much more fun than the actual killing. Scenarios like these are just another reason I love duck hunting.
One last thing, if you haven’t hunted Reelfoot Lake, I strongly encourage you do. I tell every waterfowler I know to hunt there at least once. The beauty and mystic of that lake are somethings you will take with you to your grave. The hunting there can be absolutely phenomenal - from the Cypress trees and the Bald Eagles to the people and their style of hunting. Just go there. Check it off the bucket list. I can’t promise a lot, but I can promise you’ll never forget the hunt or the sights and sounds of Reelfoot Lake.
