A Louisiana Duck Hunt or My Experience With Hypothermia

Louisiana is known as the sportsman's paradise.

My brother-in-law, Danny, is an avid sportsman! If he was to die today and heaven lacked a bayou, or a duck blind I think he would pass. He'd negotiate with the devil himself for new lodgings in a warmer climate. Only if the hunting and fishing met his standards of course.

There is no amount of misery this man won't tolerate for a chance to snag a catfish, or bag a rabbit. None! I'm here to tell you, I know this for a fact, because I was with him on several occasions suffering right along with him.

It was about 4:30 one morning when Danny came pounding on my bedroom door. "Chip?" he whispered. "CHIP!"

"WHAT?" I asked emerging from a deep sleep.

"Come on, get up, I want you to come hunting with me and it will be daylight soon."

"You go ahead I doing well right here," I said, pulling the covers over my head.

"NO, now get up! I need you to help me stage the trucks so we can float the river for ducks."

Now good ole boys, like Danny, learned a long time ago that on a cold foggy morning the wood ducks would linger at the openings of side sloughs along the river banks. Floating down stream quietly you could slip up close enough to shoot at them.

"Dress warm," he said, "its nippy out."

I slipped into a red union suit and a pair of blue jeans, put on my hunting shirt, and a long army surplus overcoat. At the gun cabinet I filled my pockets with shells and grabbed my Ithaca 16 gauge shotgun.

I caught up to Danny in the driveway where he was moving gear from the cab of his truck into a long flat bottomed john boat that was tied in the bed. I passed behind the vehicle and observed a peculiar U-shaped dent in the front of the vessel. It appeared suspiciously like the female piece of a cypress tree jigsaw puzzle.

"What happened to yer boat," I inquired.

"Long story," he said, "I'll tell you about it later. We need to hurry."

It is beyond me, why a hunter must be in position before daylight. I have been hunting numerous times in my life and I can't remember ever having the remotest chance at a shot before I could see the animal. It is a code among hunters, one that is unquestionable else you'll be asked to turn in your card and resign.

Now, staging trucks means we drive lickity split as fast as we can, to a landing, Reeds Bridge in this case, park one pick up truck, then drive lickity split back up the river and put the boat in elsewhere to float back to the original destination. Danny had been doing this for years and knew exactly where to put in to make a 5 hour hunt.

We arrived at the River Bridge ,in Oakdale, and wrestled the boat into the water. I held onto the craft while he went and parked the truck.

For whatever reason, I must have scratched my nose or something, the current almost took that boat down stream without me. I got my feet good and wet getting it back.

I don't remember how we decided who shot first and who would paddle, but we started out with me up front as the shooter.

The front seat was not at all comfortable, on account of that huge dent. I couldn't stretch out my feet so I had to sit with the soles of my shoes together in a perfect yoga position. This position would not allow me to pull my overcoat together and the slight breeze blew up and aired my armpits out.

We no sooner passed the first bend and the water off to the side exploded with ducks taking to the air.

"Why didn't you shoot at them?" Danny hollered.

"Shoot at them?" I stared at him like he had lost his mind. "Shoot at them?" I asked incredulously.

"Well, I expect I would shoot if there was light enough to see them! "

"Light enough? It is broad daylight!"

I glanced at the moon emerging from behind a cloud and said, "By golly you're right, pass me the suntan lotion I think I might be getting a burn! To think, I left my shades at the house. The glare off the water is blinding me!"

He sat down grumbling and started paddling once more.

About this time I felt my toes getting a bit cold, because of the soaking. I wiggled them around to get some relief. Then I focused on watching the water as the sun started to come up and the dimness transitioned into a foggy gloom.

No matter how much I tried to concentrate on the hunt my toes kept bothering me. BALOOSH, a mallard drake and hen took to the air. I couldn't fire before they had rounded the bend and were gone.

I glanced over my shoulder and Danny was staring back at me with his mouth open. He didn't say a word, just grumbled and dipped the paddle into the water.

My toes stopped bothering me so much, on account of they had gone numb. Around the next bend 5 wood ducks took to the air and I got off two shots and one duck hit the water.

"Well, it's about time," Danny says. "There were 5 ducks and this is one." he shook the carcass at me as he pulled it from the cold water and sat down to paddle again."

I opened my mouth to make an excuse and he held his hand out and shook his head. "I don't wanna hear it," he said, "just do better next time."

I was getting miffed because he was expecting way too much from me this early in the day!

I took a twist of Cotton Boll Tobacco out of my pocket and bit off a chew and glared right back at him.

I chewed tobacco back then, I don't know why, the women weren't bothering me so bad that I needed some girl repellent, but it was quite effective as one.

We continued down the river.

About this time I noticed my fingers starting to stiffen so I took off my gloves and blew warm air into my cupped hands, and ......you guessed it I missed another shot!

Danny was livid! Con sarn #$%@ if you miss another #@$% duck Imma throw you.......!

"Just paddle!" I declared and spit into the water. At least I aimed to, but my lips were so frozen they didn't work right. Now I had tobacco juice all down the front of me.

I think I missed another duck or two when Danny paddled as hard as he could to a sand bar. He didn't say a thing, just jumped out on the sand, pointed to the back and handed me the paddle.

I welcomed the change, I figured a little exercise would warm me up. It didn't help.

The next bend we went around two teal burst off the water. Danny got them both.

"Now that's how you do it he says!" all smarmy.

We floated down the river a long way before Danny had a chance at another shot. He missed!

Now folks, if you never visited Louisiana in the winter time, on a foggy day, you don't know what cold is. An Arctic explorer would think he was visiting the beach up there in the north if he ever experienced a wet winter day in Louisiana.
Buddy, I'm here to tell you I know what cold is and it was cold. A degree or two less and that fog would have thickened and made snow.

We scared up a few more ducks and Danny missed them. He mumbled something about brass balls and a monkey and then hollered out something about a witch and a brass bra. I couldn't really perceive what he was saying on account of my teeth chattering so.

Danny pointed to a sand bar and waved me over.

"We need some fire," he said.

Well folks, I think that man saved my life because I couldn't have struck a match if I had been in a warehouse full of them. My fingers were frozen! He was able to get a few lit to save us.

We rustled up some damp wood and a wadded up candy bar wrapper. I think it took about 20 minutes, but we got a small blaze going.

I walked off into the woods a piece and started dragging up some bigger deadwood to build up a blaze.

"The Indians say that a red man will start a small fire and sit up close and a white man will build a large fire and back away," said Danny.

Could I have swung that log I was dragging he would be laid out! I aimed to build me a fire by golly. One to make Jeanne d'Arc proud. Heck if she was selling real estate for a spot next to her at the stake I'd have put down earnest money right there!

Indian, indeed! I was cold! The shrink factor had my voice about three octaves higher than normal! What I needed was an inferno!

After I got enough wood on that fire she fairly roared, oh it was bliss. We dragged up a large log and sat down on it to thaw out. I took off my wet socks and hung them over a branch near the flames to dry. I wiggled my toes up next to the flames, it felt wonderful!

We sat there an hour or more because my socks were almost dry when we decided to head down river.

The rest of the trip went well. Danny killed his limit and mine too, and by the time I was about frozen again we arrived at the truck.

Danny got out of the boat and said, "I'm glad we finally got here, I've enjoyed about as much of this as I can stand!"

We laugh about that trip now, but if that wasn't the most miserable duck hunt I ever experienced it has to be in the top three!

I hope you enjoyed this little story, it's based on a true event, of course time has blurred the details so I filled in the fuzzy parts with lies fiction.

CARRY ON!

Wood duck

Joan of Arc

Danny S. Byrd photos