All of that being said brings me to my post. Another unforgettable weekend at 3F Farms. I'm not sure I have a memory bank capable of holding the experiences that I've been a part of this year, so bare with me through the rambling. This site is more of a scrapbook of memories so that when I'm old and gray (or bald) I can look back over these special times and recall the moments. I don't think there is anyway pictures or words can illustrate a bond that is formed between a father/son and experiencing God's work first hand. To see the smallest, most insignificant ant crawl, the elusive whitetail feeding in a field that has taken weeks to be prepared by the hunter, the wily mallard cupped and committed over a perfectly placed spread of decoys, and the majestic hawk soaring on a crisp fall day brings a peace to my mind and a cleansing to my spirit. Thank you Lord for your paintbrush, and bringing to life new days and new experiences each and every time we step foot into your great outdoors.
The long weekend started Friday morning with a first. The first duck hunt was recorded in the 3F history log. While others pumped water or were able to hold rain water, Grayson and I hunted the only water available on the farm, which was basically a pot hole in Coon Bayou. It's the absolute bottom and lowest spot of our #1 duck hole. I didn't expect to be able to work a large number of birds into this small area, but thought we might get lucky seeing as it was opening day. The official start to duck season was at 6:11 a.m. The first moment of opening day is something everyone should experience once. To hear the roar of shotguns all over the Delta at that exact time is a special thing. Nearly 10 months of anticipation for arrival of that exact minute is finally and aggressively released in the sound of gunfire and the smell of burning powder. Everyone's gun was going off at that moment it seemed...except ours. We watched raft after raft of ducks going across the sky. I called...and called...and called some more, all to no avail. Grayson got his kicks out of sloshing in the water to make ripples and move the decoys. Finally about 6:30 I had a bird surprise me from behind, which I identified as a spoonie (hey, I couldn't be choosy at this point) and I promptly missed him 3 quick times. My dove season rust still had not been shaken. Grayson and I spent the next 20 minutes or so watching all the ducks fly past us, hearing shot...after shot...after shot. At one point I thought we'd change positions as being camoflagued was becoming more important as the early morning colors of dawn were now being replaced with full rays of sun through the thick cloud bank. Wouldn't you know at that very moment a group of 6-7 mallards circled overhead, fully intent on getting into our pot hole. Needless to say they saw us relocating and no shot was fired. Once situated, I became somewhat optimistic that our little hole just might produce a few birds. No sooner had we gotten settled when a pair of woodies locked up and began a kamakaze dive into the small spread I had thrown out. Two quick shots and the most beautiful (in my opinion) pair of ducks were now in the bag. And at 7:00, those were the last of the birds that showed any interest in our set. We ate a honey bun, drank chocolate milk (diet coke for me...I'm watching my figure :) and just talked. I swear my little man grew up by 3 years in that 2 hour period.
Saturday afternoon we were settled at the Owl Field by 2:30 and it was a crisp, beautiful 52 degrees. It was just one of those afternoons that holds promise from the start. We saw our first deer around 3:15 and then at 4:00 the gates opened. We had deer everywhere. North, east, and west all held deer, and we even had a deer cross the bayou from the south, normally a non-occurence. A big 3 point entered the field and Grayson was begging me to let him shoot it. I made him the promise that if we didn't get a shot before dark, and this deer was still around, we'd shoot at him. Not 5 minutes later an 8 point entered the field and "operation get a shot" went into action. This deer fed towards us and I filmed for a little while. All the while more deer were filtering into the field. I finally got the camera set up to film on its own and we had the 2 year old 8 point at about 100 yards. I had gotten Grayson situated in the stacked chairs and was about to get his gun out the window when I saw a buck entering from the back corner of the field. I immediately knew it was "Massey", a buck that dad had seen the day before and one that I had captured on the rat hole trail cam. This buck has better mass than most deer that we've captured on camera over the past two years. He's very heavily palmated on his left side and is a beautiful buck.