CHASING MAGIC
By CWA Member Steve Douros

So comes the end of another magical duck season, and it is time to put the magic back into the bottle once again. We have washed, cleaned, and packed away our old waders and told ourselves they are “good” for one more year. We have washed the decoys and said we will only get a “few” more for next year. We have cleaned our guns, and we have silently thanked the manufacturer for making a gun that can take the abuse that we put it through. We have put all the gear away, and now we reflect on the magic that was.

Some call duck hunting an obsession. Others call it a passion. I, for one, think we are all chasing the magic. The magic of doing what few do and even fewer can understand. Of driving all night. Of outhouses and donuts. Of sleeping in the back seat of the truck and needing help to stand erect when we awake. Of waking up at 3:00 a.m. on a chilly winter morning. Of standing in line in freezing weather. Of carrying our gear out into the field and wondering why we are taking so much and why the path is so rough. Of packing out what we took in so the next person can enjoy his turn. We remember how good the coffee tasted. We do it because we are chasing the magic.

We also test ourselves against nature. We wonder why God made so many mosquitoes and why they are “all” in our blinds. We test ourselves when we follow the rules – strange as they sometimes seem – and question the intent and integrity of those who don’t. We test ourselves to see if we can withstand the hours of the cold – sitting motionless in the blinds or standing knee-deep in chilly water. Somewhere between tedium and boredom. Somewhere between a beautiful sunrise and a sunset so golden, that we are sure there has never been one like it, we find the magic.

The duck season that has just passed was not unlike the many other seasons of years gone by. We, however, are sure that this season was paramount. For we chased the magic. We shared the magic with family. With old friends and with new-found friends. Fathers and sons. Husbands and wives. We saw the magic in a young child’s eyes, holding a cup of hot chocolate on a nippy morning, knowing they were not there for the hunt – they were there to share the magic with their dads.

We saw magic through a dog’s eyes as he scanned the sky. We saw the magic in a dog’s owner when the dog he trained retrieved his first goose. We saw a first-time hunter get their first duck and shared the magic in their smile. We thanked the weather gods for sending down a strong wind and filling the sky with waterfowl. We shared the sorrow with others when the damn gun would not shoot straight or – worse yet – when they tried to shoot a duck without loading the gun. We have watched at day’s end when the sky filled with geese, and we were happy we could share that magical moment with friends and family.

Duck hunters are a unique breed in the hunting world. We have the ability to withstand the heat of the early season and the bitter cold of the late season. We can walk through knee-deep mud, catch our breath, then go out and do it again and again. We are proud of the way we have the skill to throw out a decoy spread that will entice even the cagiest duck. We have listened to grown men sit for hours blowing through a hollow tube to produce a duck’s quacking sound. We then watch them come out of a pond with so much mud on their boots that they too waddle like ducks. When they are done cleaning their bounty, they are covered with so many feathers they look like ducks. We are duck hunters. We have chased the magic. We have found it, and it is grand.

We will sit now and wait. Wait for another year to go by. We will wait to do battle with the bugs. To once again test our strengths against whatever Mother Nature can dish out. We will endure the long drives to the fields to test ourselves against an adversary that flies. We will wait to hear the words, “Coming in,” “12 o’clock low,” “Take ’em,” “Nice shot,” or “Are you done yet?” We will wait now; wait for the weather to turn cold, for the leaves to start to fall from the trees. We will wait for the days to grow short, when we can once again open the bottle and chase the magic.