Last Stand at Woods Hole

Steve Sanford

Well-known member
All~


We had snow and dropping mercury last night - so we planned one last hunt before my "back ponds" froze up for the season. The Hickory Swamp has been nicknamed Woods Hole this year - in honor of one regular devotee. A guest gunner, though, was defending it this morning....



Cap'n Fencepost and I enjoyed a fine morning afield 'midst the fresh coat of snow. It felt good to be in a vessel - breaking ice and setting stool.



View attachment sm 01 Woods Hole - 8 November 2019 - mostly ice.JPG



I coached the Sport through a nice double on Woodlies. The first Hen fell in the pond - as planned - so I got to paddle out for the retrieve.


View attachment sm 02 Woodie in ice.JPG



The second Hen made it over the cornfield before she gave up the ghost.


View attachment sm 03 MSW with Woodie pair - 8 November 2019.JPG


No Mallids about - so we sauntered back to a warm kitchen just as the sun was peering over the eastern sky.



View attachment sm 06 Woods Hole - 8 November 2019 - hillside.JPG


Omelets all around capped the morning.


View attachment sm 05 Snowfall - 8 November 2019.JPG



Then - off to the dump!


All the best,


SJS


 
Showing your age, Captain. That's not a dump. It's either a landfill or a transfer station. They stopped being dumps when we stopped pouring kerosene on them and burning them.
 
Good morning, Jeff~


Yes, my early memories of our trips to the dump remain vivid. My Dad towed a trailer behind his post-WW II Jeep. We three kids would scavenge amongst the treasures, savoring the wonderful aromas from the ever-burning piles....


All the best,


SJS

 
Beautiful scenery in your pics. We fowlers sure are a blessed group to be able to witness such beauty while others snore in their beds. And a quick hunt and a warm breakfast to boot, doesn,t get much better!
 
Thanks for those delightful pictures, each with its own connected story. I remember those days around this time of the year when I lived in Minnesota as a kid. Thanks Steve. It has been a good way to begin this Saturday morning.
Al
 
[size 4] Great looking little hole, Steve. Did "Captain Fencepost" earn his title due to his ability to remain completely still when someone whispers : "Don't move!" ??
 
Good morning, Bob~


The "Fencepost" moniker stems not from my partner's skill set - but rather his choice of fowling pieces. Although on this particular day he was carrying an unusual device with two barrels, one atop the other, his typical smokepole is an "A-5" ? Ever heard of it ? It was apparently cobbled together in one of the Old World's "Low Countries" sometime after WW II - perhaps by Elizabeth Barrett Browning herself....


In any event, being a modern consumer product - and by far the youngest of guns in my Fowling Circle, a certain degree of ridicule - and even scorn - was inevitable. There was some consideration of "Gaspipe" - but "Fencepost" has stuck for many seasons now - his occasionally downing a hapless duck or goose with it notwithstanding.


All the best,


SJS

 
Steve Sanford said:
Good morning, Jeff~


Yes, my early memories of our trips to the dump remain vivid. My Dad towed a trailer behind his post-WW II Jeep. We three kids would scavenge amongst the treasures, savoring the wonderful aromas from the ever-burning piles....


All the best,


SJS

My middle school classroom had a panoramic view of the only big hill in town, and the dump that was on top of it. Trash was set afire and then pushed over the summit with a dozer to fall down the steep side, providing endless entertainment to bored and hormonal 7th and 8th graders.

Now the town transfer station has landscaping and one of the nicer displays of Christmas lights in town.
 
Steve Sanford said:
an "A-5" ? Ever heard of it ?

[size 4]Indeed I have, Steve. In fact, the gentleman who introduced me to waterfowling many years ago shot a Belgian made "Humpback" A-5 (... and did so quite well!!)

I'll always remember one outing on the River with him, when we were discussing the perception that black ducks were so much more cautious and hard to get to commit than other puddlers we gunned for. That day, he had brought along a couple of venison chops for our lunch, charcoal, charcoal lighter fluid, and a small, rusty old charcoal grill to cook them on. At about 11 a.m., he fired up that grill on the bank next to the boat, and when the flames from the charcoal fluid were blazing a foot high like a small bonfire, a pair of blacks topped the trees across from us and came in like they were on a string. After we had grabbed our guns and dispatched the pair, he turned to me and said: "Ah, yes, The wary black duck!"
From then on that was how we referred to blacks.
 
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