I first met Art about five years ago through Dwight, a friend and neighbor who, like me, is a hunter, primarily of anything that flies. He and his brother JB often hunt together all over the country as Dwight has been very successful in life, has his own jet, and loves to experience all of what life has to offer. Art is equally, if not more successful. I'm purposely not going into their business details to maintain some level of confidentiality as, while this story is not secret by any means, I know that all the parties involved don't want or need any public attention.
Art is a fantastic hunter and now, at age 80, is suffering many of the infirmities that come with aging. He has Parkinson's and struggles a bit with mobility and, while he suffers the indignities of aging's effects, he bears those in silence, always manifesting a positive attitude and the joie de vivre associated with being with his friends in one hunting venue or another. Art is an exceptional hunter and shooter. For example, I've never seen him take a shot with a shotgun and miss his target. Not once. And he is, beyond being a great gunner, a patient and determined man. According to my information, there are about 15-16 million hunters in the USA. About 2.5 million of them are turkey hunters. Fewer than 1,800 have accomplished a Grand Slam which is defined as having harvested the four principal American turkey species: Eastern, Rio Grande, Merriam's and Osceola. Fewer still (less than 700) have achieved a Royal Slam which includes the species above plus the rare and difficult to find/hunt/obtain permits for Gould's turkey, found only in remote parts of northern Mexico and very limited areas of the American Southwest. Art achieved the Royal Slam two years in a row. Beyond his hunting prowess and his business acumen and success, Art is a veteran, a patriot, enormously charitable, and what we here in Texas simply describe as "a good man."
We, as a group, have been hunting in Georgia for quail and pheasant, in Argentina's river deltas for ducks, perdiz, and geese, and in Canada for ducks, cranes, and geese. Each of these places and events have caused the members of our group to bond as hunters and, more importantly, as men. Affection and respect among men are sometimes difficult to describe. In the crucible of military combat, it is often described as brotherhood reflective of intense loyalty and often willingness to sacrifice oneself for your brothers alongside you. In the circumstances of hunting birds, which is a far less significant activity, I believe the combination is best described as fellowship, the being with like-minded comrades that is typically not similarly experienced in other settings. Brotherhood, loyalty, fellowship—all of these provide for some interesting behaviors and dispositions among the members of men's groups.
So it was that Art, JB, Dwight, I, and Brent (JB's adult son), as well as Ellie, Art's lovely 29-year-old granddaughter flew on Dwight's plane from South Carolina to Saskatchewan, Canada to hunt ducks, geese, and maybe some Sandhill cranes.
Hunting there involves typically setting up and camouflaging layout blinds and setting out 250 to 300 decoys in a field that's been scouted by professional guides and believed to present fertile opportunities for various species of ducks and geese. Layout blinds are essentially about 7 feet long, 3 feet wide and maybe two feet high. There are two "doors" on them such that you can lie down in the "box" that the blind creates, close the doors above you and, given that the entire unit is covered in camouflage materials, you disappear from sight of any overflying or approaching birds, and only pop up with shotgun at your shoulder when birds are in range.
Hauling out and setting up the layout blinds is hard work. They are heavy but portable and require that they be covered with whatever grass, straw, leaves, branches, and the like are consistent with the surrounding environment. They are often uncooperative in being assembled and there are typically a lot of expletives involved in the process. Decoys aren't particularly heavy but there are lots of them and they need to be carried and placed just so. Usually, the decoy field begins about 10 yards or so from the layout blind setup to the first row of decoys. Beyond that, there typically are enough of them placed to create a field of decoys probably fifty yards wide and 40 yards deep. The idea is to attract ducks and geese into openings in the field among the decoys and, as the birds flare or "cup" their wings preparing to land, the hunters take their shots. In Canada, due to the sheer numbers of birds, the action is fast and furious when it happens.
We initially went out to set up our hunting operation (blinds and decoys) arriving at about 2 p.m. The weather was just perfect—temps in the low 50's, clear and sunny, and the wind was picking up. One thing that is certain about duck and goose hunting is that success is directly related to wind. More wind, more birds. No wind, few birds. Thus, conditions were just about perfect. Once situated, the action started almost immediately and stayed constant for hours.
We were, on this particular occasion, having incredibly good luck and had shot a full limit of Canada geese (8 per hunter per day), a large number of Snow geese (limit is 20 per hunter per day) but were not seeking to limit on them, and we had shot 47 ducks (limit is 8 per hunter per day). So, we needed one last duck to limit out, pack up, and go back to the hotel and dinner.
The afternoon had been surreal. We'd had wave after wave of ducks and geese flying into our decoys and, hunters that we were, we had a lot of shooting opportunities. I had several "doubles" during the afternoon and my one and only "triple" in my hunting career. Personally, I was on Cloud 9 and was ecstatic about our overall performance. I think all of us were flying high on our accomplishments that day. So, ONE LAST DUCK.
Somehow, and completely out of the blue, a deeply emotional moment occurred for me, a kind of Zen thing, if you will. It struck me that Art, bless his heart, had struggled with entry and exit from his layout blind and, in order to make things work for him, every one of us, including his granddaughter, had helped lift, pull, push and otherwise support him as he worked to be in position to hunt. And yet, he carried his weight with blinds and decoys, and clean up. Getting older myself, I realized in that moment that this is not a forever thing. In fact, who knows when the last hunt is for any man? I did know though, in that exact moment, that Art's last hunt was nearing—maybe not that day or tomorrow but soon. So, out of nowhere, I spoke the idea that had jumped into my head. "We need one last duck," I said. "Let's have Art shoot it." Almost in unison as though we'd all been discussing this for awhile, everyone said "Yeah," with enthusiasm or "Great idea." Somehow, the collective mind at work and in sync. Art mumbled something and Ellie looked at me with what could only be described as a wistful smile of thanks. Somehow, everyone simultaneously knew what "one last duck" really meant. It was a tribute to our friend, an act of brotherly love, a moment of respect, of recognition of the man that spoken words could never convey.
Even though we had been presented all afternoon with wave after wave of ducks and geese, it suddenly went still and very quiet. Within a minute or two, a single duck flew overhead. Not a group of five, ten, or twenty. One last duck. By itself. Had God Himself been part of our instant plan to honor Art? It could not have been a coincidence. I heard a single shot as I watched the duck fly by and then it was on the ground. Art doesn't miss and despite what I know his emotional state likely was, he didn't miss now. We all got to see our friend, our companion, our buddy, shoot one last duck.
After we broke our blinds and our decoy field down and packed everything away, we took some photos of the afternoon's harvest, then went back to town for dinner and a brief night's sleep at our hotel. We cheered each other over cocktails and beers as hunters do at the end of a big day but then someone mentioned the one last duck and we were all smiles, knowing that this was one of the most special moments that any hunter can ever experience. I am very thankful that I was given the gift of simply being there for such a magnificent occasion.
