Sweaty Mornings in the Duck Blind

Sitting in my duck blind the other morning, jacket shed, shirt unbuttoned, tugging at the collar of my T-shirt to vent the moisture of sweat built up from a simple walk through the marsh in 5mm waders when it’s nearly 55 degrees, I thought to myself that I wished I lived in New Jersey, because I would be at the beach fishing right now instead of hopelessly waiting for a duck.

A pair of hen buffleheads lit into the decoys just as I thought that. I chuckled that if my old pal Tred had been along, he’d have grabbed for the gun without a second thought and blasted away. I barely looked up, long ago having lost interest in killing ducks simply for the sake of shooting.

In fact, I rarely keep a very wary watch at all first thing in the morning anymore. The early waves of bluebills that used to whoosh overhead on their way from Shinnecock Bay to Lake Agawam as soon as dawn cracked are long gone and the blackducks and occasional widgeon or mallard that are the only real duck-sized targets left behind tend to fly later in the day.

So do the geese, which are really the only thing that gets me motivated to even bother with the whole rigmarole.

I do enjoy hunting geese over water. Certainly much more so than sitting in a pit, staring at a narrow crack in the ceiling that provides only the most fleeting glimpses of the source of the cackling cacophony overhead, while only one person gets to watch the heart-thumping approach of the flock.

In the blind at least you get to see each stage of the birds approaching the rig, their long heads scanning back and forth as they analyze the stool and try to determine who the most friendly of the oddly still audience to their arrival might be.

I also like geese because they are the best table fare that flies out here, I think — and certainly give you more bang for the … well, bang, I guess … in terms of how much winds up on the table for each life taken. Philly cheesegoose sandwiches are on the menu this week!

We certainly do not have the population of geese we once had in this region either. Much like the mallards that used to dump by the thousands and thousands into the fields in northern Water Mill each evening after shooting time, the massive flocks of geese do not darken our skies during their midday movements like they used to. The ponds at Equinox Farm used to be so chock-a-block with white chins that you could literally not see a speck of open water from Scuttlehole.

If there is a bright side in this, it’s that there are still plenty of geese here to satisfy the needs of the dwindling population of hunters. Certainly where I hunt, there is a decent little population that feeds in the one farm field that has survived in Southampton Village — like the pile of plowed snow in the shadow of a mall building that somehow doesn’t melt until April. It is hardly something that I would call good hunting, but it’s reliable enough to at least have the expectation that a flock will give the rig a look.

How far we have fallen.

Fishermen, winter is here and if you are not making plans for OBX or Florida, the most you have to look forward to is the return of “Surf Day,” the surfcasters tackle expo hosted by the Surfcasters Journal, on January 15 at Ward Melville High School. As usual, this will be a gathering spot for some of the East Coast’s best plug makers, and will be certain to draw a large crowd (see also the story in this week’s edition of The Press on Fight Lure Co., the Westhampton-based plug maker who will make his show debut).

One-off Super Strike poppers made specially for the show and available only for the first 100 people on line will certainly mean the queue will start forming hours before the doors open at 9 a.m.

The fishing community lost one of its brightest lights over the holidays. Megan Pfautz had been a strobe of happiness and hilarity since becoming a regular on local party boats over the last few years. Rarely do you find a 30-something young woman, obsessed with fashion as much as fishing, who adopts the railings of party boats as her preferred pastime. She will be greatly missed.

Here’s to happier days in 2023 and fruitful mornings in the blind and on the water.

Catch ’em up, Betty. See you up there.