Feeling alive on icy duck hunt

he hunt started with me sending a simple text.

"Deer or ducks Saturday morning?"

Had I known the event to come, I might have gone to Country Kitchen in Taneytown for a warm leisurely breakfast instead. Nah, life is made up of experiences and Saturday morning was one to remember.

Friday evening I went to load my Native Ultimate kayak onto the commuter SUV, when I discovered the roof rack did not have crossbars. The adventure truck had been parked due to engine failure. She was out of commission and the SUV, normally used for commuting, had to take on additional duties. The simple task of loading the truck to go waterfowl hunting was no longer simple.

The single-digit temperature bit at my fingers and face. I had no way to carry the kayak on top of the SUV. The decoys were stored in the shed. The snow in the yard kept me from driving back to the shed. It would take four or five long cold trips carrying the kayak and decoys across the yard. I was ready to give up. I called my would-be partner for the early morning river duck hunt.

"I can't load the kayak on this damn car. I'm not going to make it tomorrow," I explained.

"Use your good ole' redneck engineering and strap the kayak up there," was the reply I got.

He was right. I had been coming up with a lot of excuses lately and in turn, been lazy about getting out. At times the barriers and excuses overcome our will to pursue those things we enjoy the most. Dave gave me the push I needed.

In the dark and cold of the night, I found a way to load the kayak and made the several trips to the shed carrying the decoys to the SUV. At 11:30 p.m. I set the alarm for 3 a.m. I was duck hunting in the morning.

When I arrived at the Potomac River, Dave was already there and loading his kayak with decoys. The overhead console of the SUV told me it was 9 degrees. I wished I had not looked. Yes, I knew it was cold, but did I really need to know how cold? Sometimes you are better off not knowing. I donned my chest waders, untied the kayak and loaded it with my gun, shooting bag and decoys.

I grabbed the stern handle of Dave's kayak, while he took hold of the bow. We made the 100-yard kayak carry to the river, returned and carried my boat to the river's edge. The river's quick current along this section kept the water semi open of ice. We watched sheets of ice and clumps of slushy water float past.

"Over by our rock and in the eddy behind it, the water should be ice free." Dave opened the discussion.

I agreed. Breaking the thin ice along the river bank, we dropped into our kayaks and began our upriver paddle. Quickly the cold water seeped into my gloves. Water covered the boat, quickly becoming a thin film of ice. My gloves became stiff and frozen, forming my frozen hands around my paddle. We fought the river's current, dodged floating ice, and diverted around solid sections of river. In the dark, we made it to our destination and began to pitch the decoys into the water.

We won. Or had we?

Our early arrival had beaten all the other hunters to this highly sought duck hunting hot spot on the public hunting area of the river. With the decoys set and the boats hid among the rocks, we were ready to hunt. Just one little issue, legal shooting time was another hour and 40 minutes away. We stood in the water; it was warmer than the air. We talked of life and the latest changes. Both Dave and I have experienced some dramatic changes in our lives over the last few years. We've come through the hard times and are making new strides toward happiness. Yep, standing in a 32-degree rushing river while the air temperature is in the single digits is happiness for us.

I understand the above may sound crazy to some. But in reverse, spending a summer day sitting on an overcrowded beach in the sweltering heat does not interest me one bit. Embrace yourself, the book said. So I have.

With the extra time on our hands, I took the opportunity to paddle back to the truck and switch out coats. The one I had been wearing over my waders and was now wet and frozen solid. Back at the car, I replaced the iced coat for my old standby wool coat. This time at Dave's suggestion, I put it on under my waders.

On our return paddle, I noticed the ice had grown, encasing some of my goose decoys. I pushed through the slush and freed the decoys. Shooting light and ducks began to arrive. We hustled back to our makeshift blind in the rocks.

The sky filled with ducks. In every direction swarms of ducks flew. Four black ducks lock wings and dropped toward our decoys. Dave fired and one fell resting on the ice. A tree blocked my shot.

A few minutes later another group of ducks pitched toward us. This time they were on my side of the decoy spread and tree. I waited as long as I could then rose and fired. Three shots rang out from my shotgun. No ducks fell from the sky. I missed. The number of ducks passing overhead dwindled. High flyers traveled overhead with no interest in our landing zone. A few passed close enough for a passing shot. We missed.

Soon the sun brightened the eastern sky down river, blinding our view. We concentrated on the western sky. The west wind bit our faces. The cold river bit our toes. Our duck calls froze. At 9 a.m. we called it a hunt. Dave had shot one duck and I none.

Working the kayak through the ice and slushy river, I became immobile a few feet from the last decoy. Breaking the ice with my paddle and scooping the slush away from the boat, I covered the five feet in five minutes. Thirty feet from the bow of the kayak, the fast, free of ice, river flowed. But I was stuck in the ice.

Using the same routine of breaking the ice around the boat, pushing away the slush, then anchoring the paddle blade in the ice and pulling the boat ahead, I worked inch by inch toward the open water. I learned an important lesson. Tunnel hull kayaks do not perform well when it comes to breaking ice and pushing through slushy water.

On shore, I stood completely covered with a film of ice. My glove fingers held balls of ice on the tips. The kayak was completely covered with a half inch of ice.

I felt alive. I enjoyed the morning. These are the days I remember; days worth the effort, experiencing not only the winter life of the river, but my own life.

Yep, it feels good to be back living life and not sitting on the sidelines watching the days go by.

Andrew Aughenbaugh is a Times outdoors writer. His column appears every other Sunday. Reach him at 410-857-7896 or sports@carrollcountytimes.com.