The Regret Resort
By: Dave Tuttle
We have all been here. At one time or another in our duck hunting career we have visited this place. It doesn't matter if you are a seasoned veteran of the marsh or a rookie trying to find his or her place, you have been here. Some seem to visit more frequently than others, but we all make a stop here eventually. It's a place of shame and disgust, a place where forgiving yourself seems to be the hardest thing to do. It is here where regret welcomes you home with open arms and a cunning smile. I have been a long time member of this place, they know me well here. I am on a first name basis with those who run what I have come to call "The Regret Resort". I seem to make my way here quite often, but never intentionally. This is the place where regret slaps you on the face, then invites you in for a drink to talk about your failure.
I remember that morning well. It was a cold, sunny morning in November a few years back. The birds were out in full force and it was fun to watch. The mallards were plentiful and the teal flew around like they owned the lake. I was not after the mallards or teal that morning, I was in hot pursuit of the wood duck. The wood duck was my mission. They were here in abundance. My scouting and waterfowl hunting savy would get me a wood duck on this sunny November morning, I could feel it. My concealment was good, the wind direction was working in my favor, and the woodies seemed to favor this lake due to the food, shelter, and habitat it provided. I would just sit there and wait my turn. Two hours into that morning hunt I watched a hen woodie flying across the lake heading in my direction. She decided to check out my decoy spread and didn't like what she was seeing, which is most often the case in my experience. She decided that landing wouldn't be in her best interest so she circled my spread a few times then continued flying low, heading straight for me. I stood up, put and bead on her and fired one shot, then I watched her tumble into the tall reeds to my rear. All I had ever wanted was a hen and drake woodie mounted on a log and displayed proudly for all my buddies to see, but they had to be perfect. I was halfway there! She was beautiful. She was perfect. She was mine. Mission for that morning accomplished.
Fast forward three weeks to a frigid, overcast morning in November on Tiger Lake. If you have ever hunted Tiger Lake, you know the maze you have to get yourself through in order to get to the prime hunting areas on the lake. The water trail is narrow and it often splits off in many different directions, but if you can manage your way through the maze it opens up and turns into a waterfowl wonderland. I was the first one there that morning. It was cold, the wind was strong out of the north and in order to reach my destination on the lake I had to break alot of ice to get my boat there. Five minutes into this process I couldn't feel my hands or my feet. As I made my way through the treacherous trek of Tiger Lake I wondered why I was doing it. Was it really worth it? I thought about the hen woodie in my freezer at home and it made the cold less chilling, the wind a little less brutal. All I needed was one drake woodie that met my specifications to get within range that morning and my dream mount would become a reality, so I pressed on.
Some mornings you just dont have it. I know you can relate. You may be tired, hungover, or not feeling well. That morning I simply didn't have it, not even close. The determination and perserverance were present and accounted for, the ambition decided to sit this one out. When I finally reached my destination that morning I was so cold and miserable it took everything I had just to open my decoy bag and get a spread ready. I decided conservative was the best method, less is more would be my policy. Two drake woodies, two hens, and I tossed four mallards about ten yards to their left just for the hell of it. I made myself a home in the frozen cattails, covered my gear with my decoy bag and took a quick time check. One hour and ten minutes until the first shot could be fired. Of all the mornings I could get up extra early and try to beat everybody to the lake, I decided to pick the coldest and most brutal morning of the year. I tried to kick myself in the rear but I was too cold. I tried to eat a smores pop tart but couldn't manage to open the wrapper. I tried to take a sip from my 20oz Mountain Dew bottle but couldn't manage to twist the cap. I tried to play Pac Man on my cell phone and couldn't manage that either, it was just too cold and too windy. I sat there in my boat and pondered the different methods they might use in treating Hypothermia.
Somehow I made it through that miserable hour and ten minutes, how I will never know. It was brutal and the wind seemed to be getting stronger. Shooting time finally arrived. I uncased my Benelli, loaded it with shells, took a quick look at my decoy spread then nestled back into the cattails. All the pain and anguish in getting to this moment was about to pay off, it had to. Sometimes the universe decides it wants to surprise you and it throws you a gift, I truly believe that. There may be no rhyme or reason for it other than it just wants to let you know it's there and it's thinking about you. That morning I received my gift from the universe. The minute it became official shooting time three perfect drake woodies flew into my spread and decided they wanted to hang out for a bit. They were no more than ten yards from where I sat in my boat. I had my pick of the litter and they were giving me all the I needed to decide which one I wanted for my dream mount. As I sat there watching them I no longer felt the cold and the wind seemed to come to a complete halt. The woodies had no idea I was there but they obviously appreciated my efforts in putting together a simple, yet effective decoy spread that morning. I noticed two blackbirds flying around like they didn't have a care in the world and a muskrat was off in the distance swimming for home, he didn't seem to care about much either. I thought about my hen woodie back home in my freezer. Soon she would have company.
I wiggled my fingers and my toes preparing them for action. It was my time, the universe all but told me so. I took one last look and picked out my prize. As I stood up the woodies took notice and flushed. I placed a bead on my prize, fired, and somehow managed to miss him. I fired another shot and missed him that time too. I had one more shot left so I took a deep breath and beaded him up once more. Shot fired and shot missed. He was no more than ten yards from me when I flushed him and I somehow managed to miss him, three times! I was devastated. My pride and confidence were shattered. That wood duck ripped my heart out and left it there on Tiger Lake that morning. If you look hard enough you might find it laying in the cattails on the northwest side of the lake. I have yet to get my dream drake woodie, something tells me that might have been my one and only chance. He was perfect. My hen still lays lifeless in my freezer. My dream mount has yet to become a reality, it may never be. Regrets. The one that got away, we all have them. I became a regular at The Regret Resort after that. They really know how to make me feel welcome and at home there. I want to encourage you to share your story of the one that got away here on Minnesota Flyway. Send in your story of regret and we will post it in all it's glory. Please don't be ashamed or embarrassed, sooner or later we all end up at The Regret Resort. Some just deal with it and cope better than others.
Back to articles  |
|
