The last time I used my eleven plastic decoys was in a fresh water pond, near Greens Cut, just off of the Intercoastal Waterway, west of Tiki Island. Dana Sawyer’s brother-in-law, Jerry Feagin, had asked me to accompany him to this special spot, for in his words, “Some fabulous Duck hunting.”

To get to this “fabulous” spot required a five mile trip, in the dark, west on the Intercoastal; then up Hall’s Bayou, crossing over a reef that at high tide had twelve inches of water covering it, navigate through, Hall’s Lake, anchor the boat, carry guns, shells and decoys, up and over a lake dam to our destination. Remember, all of this in the dark!

Our destination was a fresh water lake, the only fresh water on the mainland side that bordered West Galveston Bay. We were told the next fresh water pond was over five miles to the west. Ducks need to drink fresh water daily. Finally arriving at our spot, our only problem was literally bouncing Dana’s twenty-three foot fishing boat over the shallow reef in the bayou. It is a wonder we didn’t permanently damage the lower unit!

In the blind, with the decoys in the water, we loaded our guns with the “new” steel shot, Jerry, a twelve gauge, pump and me a, 12 gauge, O/U, that I used for shooting doubles in Trap. We weren’t sure about the killing power of the new shot, but it was now the law, and now, I know, fifteen years later, it has really helped the Goose and Duck population!

As it got light, we both noticed some “No Trespassing” signs posted strategically around the lake. Jerry said, “Those are new to me.” We quickly forgot the signs as the Ducks poured into the fresh water. The first bunch, Gadwalls, swished into our decoys and Jerry let loose on them seriously wounding some of my decoys and hitting two Gadwalls on the water. As the remaining Ducks took to flight I shot and knocked one down,

Admonishing Jerry for “pot shooting” the ducks and probably ruining some of my decoys, we reloaded as more Gadwalls swarmed us. We both raised up and Bam, Bam, Jerry shot and knocked down one Duck and nothing happened when I pulled the trigger. Obviously, there was serious damage to my gun.

I could only sit and watch as Jerry shot several more Ducks and finally I said it was ceasing to be any fun for me and we better head back. Two of my decoys had sunk and another was riding low on the water, which didn’t help matters. Our trip back was uneventful and I let Jerry have all of the ducks and I thought, this is the last time I will ever use these decoys. I’ll retire what’s left of them and buy me some more, which I did.

The large, steel shot, BB’s” that were recommended for ducks, really tore up my decoys. Two were shot beyond repair and one I successfully repaired, I think lead, number six, shot wouldn’t have done as much damage! But anyway, he shouldn’t have shot the Ducks sittin’ on the water!

My real nice, over and under was easy for a gunsmith to fix a broken trigger sear.

Last Sunday morning, after Bible Study Class, Warren Blesh, owner of{ RRR Trophy Ranch,} mentioned that his ranch was covered up with mourning doves and was looking for some hunters to come out and help alleviate his problem.  Immediately volunteering, I asked him what time and “4:30 PM” was his short reply.

Sunday afternoon was windy, sunny and bright as three other hunters and myself, all good Baptists, showed up and Warren took us out and strategically placed us around a just planted, winter wheat, field. And, wouldn’t you know it, here came the doves from their roosts, south of Warren’s property, riding a 25, gusting to 35 MPH, wind.

Under normal conditions, mourning doves provide a very difficult target, but with the high wind, our scoring shots dropped to beginner’s numbers.  I still rate myself a good wing shot, but my first 5 were clear misses! Â

My numbers were echoed by all 5 shooters and at the end of the hunt we tallied 24 birds and ‘admitted’ to over 70 shots.  Excuses flowed, the sun was too bright, the wind made hitting them almost impossible or the trees obstructed the shots, but there are still hundreds of doves on the ranch.

We’ll try our luck again and then have a big dove cook out.  We’d better get some more or we’ll go hungry!
Maybe I’ll even get some good pictures?

In December of 1956 we left West University (a Houston suburb) well before first light for the 30 minute drive to a rice field on the Katy Paririe that we had permission to hunt on. Spending over an hour spreading out our decoys, Wes Reynolds and I were now laying along the edge of a levee in an 800 acre, harvested rice field with a mud road bisecting it. Wes, was a friend and neighbor and had been hunting with my Dad and I for several years. In the far northwest corner of the rice field, probably five thousand Geese had roosted the previous night and provided a serious impediment to our decoying efforts.
On the Katy prairie it was cold, with low hanging clouds and a steady north wind blowing, providing us with a day made for Goose hunting. The early morning quiet was broken by the sounds of Geese squawking in the distance and we were doing our best to imitate these sounds and coax the six young Snow Geese to “come on in” and land with the large gaggle of geese, really our decoys, already on the ground, on this side of the large rice field.

Not your normal Goose decoy spread that you see now days with hundreds of large full body, plastic and foam ones, Geese “flying”, wings spinning rapidly, hunters dressed in white overalls packing 10 Gauge, 3 ½” magnum shotguns; but newspapers, old diapers, piles of mud with goose feathers stuck into them and hunters with “early” camo parkas and green waders packing, 12 gauge, pump shotguns with 2 ¾” paper shells. But it worked!

Setting out the decoys wasn’t rocket science. Spread the diapers over clumps of rice, wrap a full sheet of newspaper so it looks like a Goose head and attach a glob of mud to each in order to hold them so the wind won’t blow them away. The “mud” decoys were the easiest, just make a pile of mud and stick Goose feathers into in, not like a porcupine, but slicked back like a Goose.

Young Geese make mistakes, and these six did, setting their wings and “falling”, looking like leaves drifting down from a tall tree, right into the decoys and bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, four geese tumble to the ground. We pick them up and unceremoniously propped the Goose’s heads up with rice stalks and added them to the decoy spread.

Later in the morning, with two Specklebellys down and added to the spread, Wes and I noticed the large gaggle of Geese in the northwest corner of the field become agitated, some starting to take off, some up and circling and a noisy cacophony of Goose sounds filling the air. We snuggled down behind the levee and waited, and soon were rewarded with the sight of thousands of Geese taking the air, and heading right toward us!

Over the noise of the Geese, I whispered to Wes, “Wait until the leaders have flown past, pick out a bird and shoot him before you get on the next one.” The noise of the approaching Geese and the numbers of them were astounding to us as closer and closer they came. The leaders passing over us, the sound deafening, I shouted, “Take ‘em,” and we both stood and shouldered our shotguns, We both had two additional shells stuck between the fingers of our left hands, and let go on the Geese.

Picking out a huge Canadian, not over fifteen yards away from me, bigger than any goose I had ever seen, swinging, putting the barrel of the shotgun about 24 inches in front of the giant Goose’s bill and bam, the giant kept flying, quickly shucking another shell into the chamber of the full choked, Winchester, 12 Gauge, Model 12, bam again, nothing. Shortening my lead on the giant, bam again, nothing. Quickly reloading the two “back up” shells, the giant being long gone, I acquired new targets, two Snows stretching out for altitude and dropped them cleanly, probably 40 yard shots.

Looking over toward my accomplice, who was standing there shaking, I said, “How many did you knock down?” Wes replied, “I shot five shells and never hit a bird. I got excited and shot into the flock on my first three, reloaded and just kinda’ shot at another one. Nothing!”

As we picked up our “decoys”, the diapers, newspapers and goose feathers, I remarked, “Eight birds isn’t bad, but you should have seen the one I took three shots at and missed. It was twice as big as the rest of the Geese. I first thought it was a Swan, but it had distinctive Canadian Goose markings. I don’t know how I could have missed it?”

Driving home, we thought our eight Goose day should have counted at least a dozen, but when we got home, my Dad almost lectured us, saying, “Boys, whenever you can go out, on your own and get eight, nice Geese, be thankful of that, and I don’t want to hear anymore grumbling about it!” I said, “But Dad, I really messed up not getting that giant Goose and I still don’t know how I missed three shots at fifteen yards.” My Dad replied, “Boy, that’s easy, at fifteen yards the pattern of your shotgun has probably a six inch diameter and the shot string length is probably ten inches at the most. It’s easy, you led the Goose too much!”

Later that day, Wes and I were talking with a neighbor Dave Miller, who hunted with us regularly. He told us, “The giant Canadian that you missed was a Canadian Goose alright, a Canadensis Maxima, the largest of the species and supposedly extinct since1922! However, several sightings of the giants have been reported during the past few years.”

Thinking out loud I replied, “Missing those three shots wasn’t so bad after all.”

My Dad always watched me play football, but this particular Friday, I had hurt my arm and was suited up but not scheduled to play. My Dad took this opportunity to go Goose hunting with some of his buddies, promising me that I could come over to Barrow Ranch, in Chambers County, south of Anahuac, Saturday, and hunt with them.

We won our game and I didn’t play so my Dad didn’t miss anything, but that evening as I was getting ready for a date, my Dad called with a strange request. He said, “Son, come meet us at Truitt’s Garage at 8:30 (PM) and pick up some of these Geese. We have our 2 day, bag and possession limit but since we’re hunting tomorrow, we’re going to send these back to town!” He added, “Joe’s loaded up his pickup and he and I will meet you.” Not asking how many they had shot, my plans quickly changed and my Mom, date and I picked up my Dad’s 10 Geese, took them back home and cleaned them.

Just before sun up, it had been a real short night for me, I met them at Barrow’s Ranch. Joe and my Dad had on white hats and white dusters and I was decked out in my early style, camo parka and loaded down with guns, ammo and 300 diapers, we “slogged” several hundred yards into the rice field to our hunting spot and put out our decoys, the diapers. Our “rags” were spread in a rough oval and we stationed ourselves near the front with the wind to our backs. Geese will land into the wind and we planned to shoot at them when they hovered, or slipped overhead, into our spread.

The Geese wouldn’t start flying until around 8:00 AM, but dawn was welcomed by a cloudy, windy morning that brought clouds of Ducks, mostly green heads (Mallards) and sprigs (Pintails). Sprigs will come in to Goose rags and several bunches of the graceful Ducks buzzed us. Quickly shucking out our #2 shot and popping in 6’s, we welcomed them to our “spread”. We had some great shooting and bagged 8 and as the flights of Ducks dwindled we could hear the Geese calling over the rice fields and slipping the 2’s back into our pumps, we settled down awaiting them.

Right on time, here came the Geese, snows and blues, struggling to gain altitude against the heavy wind and we began our calling. With three of us calling, we could make a lot of noise, and our noise, caught the attention of a flock of around 20 snows and on they came.

The flock made their decision early, set their wings 100 yards out and began a lazy descent toward us. Not looking up or moving a muscle, we continued calling, then my Dad said, “Take ‘em!” Jumping up, we cut loose, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom and four of the big birds came tumbling out of the sky.

Since we didn’t have a dog, I was “named” the retriever. Three were dead and easy to pick up. The fourth had a broken wing and the chase was on. I finally called a halt to the proceedings and popped the running Goose at 40 yards. End of chase!

This day was, “one of those days” and we three hunters could do no wrong. The Geese decoyed perfectly, our shots were true, we lost no cripples and were finished by 10:00 AM. Our count was 15 Geese and 8 sprigs. Leaving one wing on each bird, we plucked, singed and gutted them, wrapped them in a tarp and headed back home.

I was tired of cleaning Geese and promised myself that I would limit this activity, at least until next weekend!

The Katy Prairie was the winter home of a concentration of over 100,000 Geese and nearly as many Ducks and drew me and my friends like a magnet. We “snuck” large and small gaggles of Geese, “jumped” the Ducks from the potholes and stock tanks and made ourselves a general nuisance to the local rice farmers.

Hunting leases were just catching on and on most of the land we “used”, we had some type of permission. Maybe one time we ask the farmer if we could sneak that big bunch of Geese in his rice field. He says OK and we take this as permission ad infinitum.

One of my hunting companions, Mel Peavey’s, Dad, had leased a small rice field of about 300 acres, near Brookshire, for Mel and his friends to hunt. Brookshire is on the western side of the Katy Prairie. Better this little, lease than us sneaking into some rice farmer’s property, getting caught and being in big trouble.

One afternoon, Mel and I got “sick” and had to leave school after lunch. Once off the school grounds, we enjoyed a miraculous recovery and decided we would try out his new Duck lease. We stopped by my house, no one was home since my Mom and Dad both worked, picked up my twelve plastic decoys, pump shotgun, waders and camo parka, Mel’s stuff was already in his car, and made speed for the lease.

Putting out the decoys, we climbed into the makeshift blind we had thrown up and waited for the ducks. Soon we saw a group of six Pintail Ducks, or Sprigs, approaching our pond, which was really a flooded portion of the field, and we began a soft whistle, who knows if the ducks heard it, but we knew Pintails responded to them. The graceful birds circled the decoys once, caught the wind and set their wings; they were coming in to our “spread”.

Letting them get about ten feet off of the water, we jumped up and, bam, bam, bam, bam and two birds splashed in. I had drawn down on a drake and went to pick him up and marveled at the beauty. This was the first of the species I had ever shot and the flowing browns and whites of his head and breast were amazing to me and the long pointed tail feathers only enhanced the picture.

Mel had shot a hen, not as pretty, but just as tasty and we hunkered down again awaiting more Ducks. Mallards circled us, but we couldn’t entice them to land and eventually settled for two Spoonbills and a Green Winged Teal.

We stopped hunting at the end of shooting time, sat on a rice levee and began to clean the ducks in the field. There was plenty of water here to wash our hands. Mel didn’t want to stop shooting, but the last thing I wanted was to get nailed by a game warden. Mel reluctantly resumed cleaning his Duck, then, all of a sudden, up he jumps with his shotgun and, bam, bam, his gun spewing sparks in the near darkness, and I hear a splash. It is almost dark and he just shot a duck, well after quitting time. I know it will be “curtains” for us now.

Looking over our shoulders, we load our gear into the trunk, and head back to Houston, awaiting the inevitable game warden roadblock. Some of our friends (their Dad’s) had just paid heavy fines for them shooting too many Geese and evading arrest. They had changed out of their hunting clothes and didn’t look like hunters and had put the Geese and all of their gear in the car trunk and came up to a roadblock, panicked and tried to outrun the law. They were caught quickly and taken to the county jail.

Mel and I fared better, finding no game wardens on the ride home. My luck wasn’t as good when I went into my house and my Mom and Dad were clearly upset that, one, they didn’t know I was going hunting and, two, they didn’t know where I was. The problems were resolved and the next night we enjoyed roasted Duck, rice, sweet potatoes and turnip greens!