The Best and Worst Day I Have Ever Had

When I was in seminary, I took up duck hunting. There was quite a nice reservoir about 30 miles north of town where a group of us went. We would leave about midnight and stop for breakfast. We would arrive and head out into the water about 2 AM. We did not have boats, rather we waded through sunken timber in chest high water for several hundred yards to reach an island where we would base. As you might guess, wading through sunken timber is a VERY slow process. It would take us over an hour to get to our appointed location. Often, we would stand in the water in camo just off the island to do our hunting.

On the last day I ever went duck hunting, it was very a very cold night. We stopped at a Waffle House on the way out of town and I remember eating my fried eggs in a hurry. As we were driving on the road out to our hunting spot, I remember thinking that this was the definition of a "hostile environment". I was getting ready to spend several hours in some very cold water well out of reach of land. Well, I was doing this by choice, I told myself.

I had a friend's borrowed Browning autoloader shotgun - the kind with the hump at the back of the barrell. The entire barrell would recoil when fired, so the gun had very little kick to it. A VERY nice gun for duck hunting.

I am guessing that the water was just above freezing. As we were on the way out, just a few yards from shore, I felt something cold on my right ankle. I looked down, and my INSULATED chest waders caught on a stick and tore a 3 inch gash on top of the ankle. Of course, nothing was going to deter me, so I continued without another thought.

As I stood in the cold water and gradually filled my waders, I became progressively colder. I am not quite sure how I survived, because I really could not feel anything below my waist for hours.

As sunrise approached and we could see ducks, I started shooting. I must say that it was the best day of my duck hunting career. Maybe it was the gun and maybe it was the cold focusing my attention, but I was bringing down the ducks. Of course, when I shot one, I had to wade through sunken timber to get it - a VERY slow and cold process. I am sure the movement kept me from succumbing to hypothermia.

As I was standing in the water looking for my next target, I felt great inner rumblings within - the fried eggs. I was at least 45 minutes from the island - which was just bare dirt sticking up out of the water. The rumblings became greater and greater until I knew the time had come. I yielded to my biological needs and the cold chest waders became filled with something that was quite warm - at least for a while. I was quite surprised how much there really was. Over twenty years later, I remember exactly how it felt. I was just not really sure what else to do. I was feeling much, much better - and was having a great day hunting. I would figure out how to deal with my other problems later.

Later that morning, three ducks were gliding in for a landing right in front of me - my first triple! I raised my gun and aimed at the lead duck - and click! The gun would not fire! The ducks of course saw me and flew off - about 6 feet over my head, I might add. Later, I would discover that the firing pin had broken - doh! So my great hunting day was over by definition.

So, now I could add a broken shotgun to warm poop in my chest waders to make a really lovely day. For some reason, I stayed out in the water for a while. Then I started the long, laborious trek back to dry land.

When I got back to the car and related what had happened, some of the group thought it was really funny and at least one was rather disgusted. We debated whether I should take the waders off or just leave them on. There was nowhere to clean up if I took them off. So, reason dictated that I leave them on. I remember sitting in the back seat of a Volkswagon beetle on the way home. It was cold out, but the driver opened the window and kept his head as far outside the car as possible as he drove home. I did not think it was that bad.

When I got back to the apartment, my wife was very understanding. She laid out newspapers from the front door to the shower, where I turned on the blessed warm water and dismantled my soiled battle gear. It was so joyous being warm and being clean. I never went duck hunting and/or waded in sunken timber again.