Just coming to grips that this is my father last hunting season. Because of his failing health I know this will be my last season to hunt with him. He has always been my hunting buddy, we duck hunted together for over 40 years. We have had many wonderful hunting trips together, but mostly duck hunting. Last season he did not want to hunt that much but loved to just go to the property he help build and run and watch the ducks come in. That was his passion and he passed it along to me. I took that passion and ran to Africa, but still at heart, I love to duck hunt.
Not looking for sympathy. Just wanted to say life is short. Spend time with the ones you love.

What's his favorite duck species to hunt?

To everything, there is a season...

Treasure the memories

I wish you both a great season......and remember, this is not the last hunting season.....at some point you will hunt together again where the ducks never stop fluttering over the decoys and there are no limits.

quote:

Originally posted by Norton:
I wish you both a great season......and remember, this is not the last hunting season.....at some point you will hunt together again where the ducks never stop fluttering over the decoys and there are no limits.

Can you use lead in this place?

Jeff, hope you boys have a wonderful season. Take pics--for both of you.

THANKS

Jeff, make every effort to turn this into a special season, and you'll always be able to treasure the memories. Take lots of picures, and be sure to enjoy the peripheral stuff that goes with duck hunting, but that doesn't occur in the blind. What matters now is the time you spend with your dad, not necessarily what happens when you're together.

I lost my father when I was 21 years old, and we'd been duck hunting partners from the time he started taking me out to the blind when I was 5 years old, walking through the mud with me piggy-backed upon his shoulders. When I was 8, he bought me my first hunting license and we shot together many days each season for 14 seasons until he died at our duck club on Christmas Eve of 1980. My dad passed on the opportunity to buy into one of the finest duck clubs anywhere in the western states simply because they only allowed 10 guest days per season, and he couldn't stand the idea of only taking my brother and I along with him that few times each year.

I'll never forget some of our hunts, but the most memorable hunt my dad and I had was the last day of the 1978-1979 season. He was afflicted with Congestive Heart Failure, and his doctor had told him he had less than 6 months to live, so we both figured that we were on our last hunt together. The morning was a total bust, as it was extremely foggy and we only shot a single drake wigeon. We gave it up around 10:30 as we were both freezing and seeing nothing at all. My dad was so depressed, beccause he knew he'd never get to do this again, and a while later when we were in town eating lunch, he broke down and started crying right at our table. He sobbed that the last duck hunt of his life was so bad and he just wanted one more good hunt. So, without telling him, I decided we were gonna have one more hunt. Instead of turning the car toward home when we left the restaurant, I headed back out to the duck club. My dad protested, as it was still very foggy and cold, but I told him we were going to hunt those last few hours regardless of what happened.

We got back to the boat dock around 1:45 and made it back out to the blind a bit before 2:00, foggy as hell still. As if ordained by the Lord above, around 2:15 the fog suddenly started burning off and the valley was soon bathed in bright sunlight as far as you could see. And....the sky was filled with ducks. You'd have thought most of the ducks in the Pacific Flyway were right there with us. My dad was more excited than I'd seen him in many hunts, and he told me we weren't going to shoot anything but bull sprig (drake pintails), which was his favorite duck of all. It was now warm with the sun out, so we were comfortable and the ducks just kept coming to our calling and we totally lost ourselves in the moment. We totally forgot about the limit, and shot ducks for a bit less than 2 hours, right until the season ended with the sunset. My dad looked down at the birds lined up on the floor of the blind and declared (happily!) that I'd spoiled our perfect shoot. I had committed the unthinkable...I'd shot two greenheads to go wtih our 20 bull sprig! He really thought it was funny that shooting a couple mallards was somehow detracting from our perfect pintail hunt, but in a good way. We sat for a bit and just watched the birds pile into the decoys by the dozens until it was close enough to dark that we weren't going to make it back to the dock before pitch black darkness, and then he got into the front of the boat and I drove us toward the dock, and home. A couple times on that boat ride back, he turned as much as he could and just had the biggest grin imaginable. I suddenly had the thought that a perfect ending would be if he'd simply have a massive heart attack right there and then, and his pain and suffering would be ended at one of the best moments he'd enjoyed in many years, and he'd die totally happy. As it turned out, that didn't happen. My dad lived for almost two more full duck seasons, passing early in the morning of Christmas Eve in the clubhouse. Over that remaining time, we had more good hunts together, and he suffered greatly with heart disease right till the end. His final 3 seasons, he had to take an oxygen tank with him to the blind, and often was too weak to even finish a morning's hunt.

I still cherish those final seasons with my dad, and even though I've gone on to hunt Alaska and Canada nearly a dozen times, Africa 4 times, lots of great western hunting and fishing trips, many with my own son, nothing will ever replace the memory of that one magical afternoon that I was blessed to spend with my dad on the final day of the season in January of 1979.

Jeff, be sure to make this a special season for your dad, no matter how it goes. In the end, you'll realize the one who got a special gift in these coming months is you. You'll never forget the memories you're about to build.

CA,Thanks for sharing your touching story. Hard to read that with dry eyes. My grandfather died of congestive heart failure, not an easy way to go. My sympathy and heart goes out to you. My dad has alzhiemers
its been getting progressively worse and he took a nose dive in the last few months. I thought we had more time, Some of his friends have told me they have never seen someone go down hill with this disease so fast. I took him to Maine sea duck hunting in Nov. last year. I knew it was our last road trip. I will take your sound advise and enjoy this season as much as possible.
I have taken his 20 plus year old Browning O/U and sent it back to Browning for a complete re-blueing and overhaul. I hope it makes it back before his mind is completely gone.
Thanks again¡

CAelknuts,

Your father raised you right. Thank you for sharing that. Inspirational and a heart string jerker, to be sure.

Lost my dad in 83,quite unexpectedly.
Somehow, I had a feeling I'd better spend time with him and the year prior to his death,I put more effort into taking him hunting as much as possible.
Our 1982 hunting season was spent hunting feral sheep,goats,and wild pigs with much anticipation for the year-end bird season.
I had found the old man something which had eluded him all his life and he often told me he would like to have---A Winchester model 12 in 28 gauge.
Took a bit of looking and it was hard to find shells for the gun and get them here(in Hawaii).
Got the gun and shells 3 months before the bird season and the old man burned them shells practicing hard!
The season arrived and we had a slow start due to low numbers from weather conditions but did allright.
The old man toughened up enough so I thought I would take to a harder hunt which meant doing some climbing up and around some hills
I started him off slow and he said he felt good that day so off we went.
Seems nobody had hunted this particular area due to the rugged terrain and it was teeming with game,our old Lab was on his best and the old man was knocking them down.
We went for 4 hours,up,down,and sideways on the hills that day,only stopping for water breaks.
When we got back to the truck,the total was 8 Chukar,10 Erkel's Francolin,4 Black Francolin,and 4 Pheasants,quite a good shoot with my father getting the majority of the game.
I didn't shoot too much that day,just backed up the old man but he did good with his 28 Ga.
The old man got home happy as clam in the sand and we had a great bird dinner the next day.
The next year his, health declined rapidly including starting to lose his eyesight.
As his vision began to go bad,he'd ask me to bring him his beloved Model 12 28 ga so he could feel and shoulder the gun.
In a way,I was happy to know he couldn't see too good as it's very hard to see your father going downhill and had tears in my eyes watching him shoulder and swing a gun which he couldn't fire ever again.
He hung on till May and passed on peacefully.
Still have the 28 ga. model 12,never shot it,it's always the old man's gun.


ironfist