Bear Grease - Ep. 171: THIS COUNTRY LIFE - Ducks, Trees, and Danger

Episode Date: December 15, 2023

After a multi-year break from the duck blind, Brent's back with a renewed passion for water fowling. He's gonna tell us how his lifelong journey in pursuit of waterfowl started, the story of his first duck, and how his love for hunting in the timber almost came crashing down on top of him. Gather round and someone hush that dog up! It's time for MeatEater's "This Country Life" podcast. Connect with Brent and MeatEater MeatEater on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, and Youtube Shop Bear Grease MerchSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

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Welcome to This Country Life. I'm your host, Brent Reeves. From Coon Hunting to Trotlining and just general country living, I want you to stay a while as I share my stories and country skills that will help you beat the system. This Country Life is proudly presented as part of Meat Eaters Podcast Network, bringing you the best outdoor podcast the Airways have to offer. All right, friends, pull you up a chair or drop that tailgate. I think I've got a thing or two to teach you.

Ducks, Trees, and Danger A journey can start at any moment, but a lifelong journey has to start pretty early in a person's life. It was ducks for me, and I took my first step on that trek at 11. And I'm going to tell you a lot about what went on when I was chasing those critters around Arkansas, but first, I'm going to tell you the story of I had all started. I had the pleasure of being invited to go on a duck hunt last weekend

with a group of friends that I coon hunt with, and I have to say, I missed it more than I thought. After a 26-year marathon grind of guiding duck hunters every available day, stressing about water, duck camp maintenance, boat, motor, upkeep, leases, no rest, little sleep, downward trend in duck numbers and upward trend of duck shooters, and the collection of birthdays, my brother and I quit. I hung up my calls and did other things. A bow hunted, a fly fished, a coon hunted. But the main thing I did was enjoy myself during hunting season.

Duck season used to be my reason for being. It was what I looked forward to most. When it wasn't duck season, I thought about it. I counted the days until it was. And my dad wasn't a duck hunter, but my older brother Tim just decided, one day that he was. And if he was doing it, you could bet that I was going to try to do it too.

For anyone that's new to the podcast, I grew up in the country and I loved to hunt and fish and do just about anything that's outside except for chores. Now, being raised on a farm, there was always something to be done. Something needed doctored or stacked, split, loaded, unloaded, disced, raked, painted, planted, had burnt, and the woods ain't going to burn themselves, you know, toaded, picked, or a combination of any number of them. And I didn't really care for it. None of that has changed.

I got a four-wheeler trailer sitting in my backyard right now that I begrudgingly filled with limbs two springs ago before the mowing started. Now, this was all under the direction of my workaholic wife, Alexis, who lives by the proverb that idle hands are the devil's workshop. Well, that trailer is still sitting there full of limbs. And when I have time, I'm going to haul them off, but right now I'm busy being retired and thinking about duck hunting again.

I was 11 on my first duck hunt in 1977. My brother Tim and Joe Tyree took me to Star City, Arkansas to a beaver pond that was located behind a minnow farm on Cain Creek. The beavers had a large section of hardwoods, was flooded with backwater and Star City is on the edge of the Arkansas River Delta. With the river close and flooded rice fields closer, that beaver pond was a natural resting spot for Mallard Ducks looking for a place to snag a few acres, take a nap, and hunt up a gal to roll back north with when the time came. I was sporting my first pair of uninsulated red ball waiters,

an early Christmas present from Tim and my sister-in-law Barbageen. The suspenders were green with silver buckles just like my brothers. With two layers of socks, a red union suit, you know the kind with the flap in the back for emergencies. A flannel shirt, a green army field jacket, and a brand new duck's back canvas hat. I followed Tim and Joe for the half-mile walk to the flooded timber. I didn't have a light, so I stuck close to Tim, and when he pulled his foot out of a track, I stuck mine in there. and that would be the template that I would use for many years until he encouraged me to go ahead and do my own thing and he even started following me some.

That's a good thing. That's how you evaluate the lessons getting passed down, just like our father and all the adults and the more experienced folks that we looked up to had done for us and the ones that came before dad had done for him. That's how it works. Tim said, be careful, Brent, there's a big beaver run. right here. Step extra long so you hit the other side and don't fall in it. It's deep. And if you get wet, you're going to get cold because we ain't going back to the truck until we're done hunting.

Well, I stood in the spot where he'd more or less jumped from and the muddy water was up to my behind and I wondered, step extra long. How long is that? He's like twice as tall as me. I'm going to fall in, but I don't care because I'm going duck. And before I could finish that thought, he reached and grabbed me by the hand and said jump and i did and he snatched me over that beaver built abyss and we waited on him telling me where the logs and the sticks were that i had to step over he taught me on that trip to slide my feet when i couldn't see the bottom and not to put my weight forward when walking until i'd planted my foot firmly on solid ground now i can't even begin to estimate how many times I passed that on to duck hunting clients. Some of them still dripping wet from learning the

hard way. It was still dark when we got to the spot, and I could see the stars shining through the opening in the trees, and Tim let me help put the decoys out in the water that was just above my knees. Me and you will stand right here by this tree, and Joe will be standing by that one. He pointed over to my right with his flashlight, and I could already see Joe propped up against that oak tree, shotgun hanging on the nail. His hands in his pockets. He's just waiting on daylight. The wind was blowing from my right to the left and the sky was starting to turn pink behind us. Tim poured some coffee out of his thermos bottle and gave me the cup while he dug out a cigarette and lit it.

Man, that coffee smelled good and the cup felt good in my cold hands. We shared that cup back and forth and warmed our innards as we talked about where and when to shoot and when I could look at the working ducks and when I couldn't. Now I'm glad he quit smoking many years ago, but I'll catch a whiff of a cigarette smoke occasionally and it'll remind me a similar times. Coffee does the same thing. It's funny how smell and all that is connected with memories. It seemed like forever, but eventually I could look over at Joe and I could see his outline. He hadn't moved an inch, and I could see the silhouettes of the decoys as they moved back and forth in the hole where we'd set him. We heard duck wings whistling overhead and duck's quacking out in the timber.

I'm not sure I even blinked. I was about to pee in my breeches and not just from excitement. I hadn't drank a lot of coffee up to that part of my life and it was making short working by a Dixie Cup-sized bladder. Tim, I got to pee. Right now? Yes. He said, well, get over your under and get it done.

Shooting ours is in five minutes. Well, I got it done. Once I was back by the tree, Tim gave me a little. a handful of shells to put in my pocket, told me to load up. That's what I was waiting to hear. I checked the safety, and I put three of them in that Remington, 1100, checked the safety again, and I waited. The ducks started flying in big groups and were bypassing our little spot. I was getting discouraged, but Tim told me to be patient. Soon the sun was high enough for the decoys to be seen, and the duck started acting interested. Tim was calling to one group that

were circling when four or five dropped in that we never saw coming, and Tim and Joe each shot one as they hovered over the decoons. Well, I was peeking at the group that were still circling when they shot, and it scared the fire out of me. It's a good thing I'd gotten rid of that coffee earlier, or they might have scared to pee out of me, too. Now, you've got to be ready. I'm going to tell you when to shoot, but sometimes they slip in on us, Tim told me, so when they do, you've got to be quick. Well, I was listening intently and watching the sky, A big old fat mowler Drake started making tight circles and losing altitude as he burned off speed. Tim continued his lesson, I said, no matter how many come in, just pick out one and forget all the rest of them.

I guess he saw my eyes fall on that duck that was dropping in, and as he was looking up to see what I was seeing, he continued his lecture with Be Sure to give him some lead and then give him the lead. At that moment, that Drake looked as big as a Wayne Shetland pony, and he was inside the trees in front of me about 15 feet above the decoys. Went to Tim surprise, I shoulder that 1100, punched off the safety, and put him belly buttoned up in the decoys. Tim calmly finished his lessons with just like that. Man alive. That was number one. Numero Uno and the match that lit my fuse. I handed in my shotgun and I waded out amongst the decors to retrieve my prize and I couldn't have been more proud and neither could tim.

I hung on to those curly tail feathers for years and years until they got lost like things like that do. My mama made a big batch of duck and rice out of that rascal and some others that we brought home that day. I can smell of cooking right now and see how that whole hunt played out in my head like it happened this morning. That's the thing about memories. They're the little movies that play in your head anytime you want them to, and that one, well, I was reminded of it a few days ago when I was watching ducks swinging around after we called to them and dropping into decoys just like I'd seen a million times before. It was a tale I thought I was done with, but me and duck hunting never officially broke up.

We just took a three-year vacation, and that's just how it happened. And how it all started. Last spring, Clay Newcomb and I collaborated with Jason Phelps at Phelps game calls in building each of our own favorite turkey diaphragms called prime cuts. Now, I'm going to tell you, I love mine because it's easy to use. I'm not going to go, I'm not going to win a turkey calling contest. It's just not going to happen. But when I run this call, I get the sounds that gobblers are looking for.

I have a great turkey hunting track record. if you go listen to real turkeys out in the woods, they're not going to win calling contests, right? That's who I listen to. I can make those sounds on my cut. I also hunt with Phelps's cut, and I hunt with Clay's cut because they're all three great cuts. Check out Prime Cuts at Phelpsgamecalls.com.

I think you'll be glad you did, and you'll find out that the Steve Ronella cut is an easy-to-use cut for beginning callers who just want to start making good. turkey noises and getting action. Here's a duck story that happened 12 years after my duck hunting journey started and believe it or not, it was within a half a mile of that very spot in the same flooded timber but under extremely different circumstances.

This is the time my journey nearly came to an abrupt and violent halt. So gather the youngans and y'all listen up and the Reeves boys are out doing dumb stuff again. Remember Cain Creek, like from 10 minutes ago, the creek that the beavers had dammed up and created the pond and the flooded timber where I shot my first mouter duck? Remember? Well, fast forward 12 years, and it's now a 1,675 acre lake within the 2,053 acre Cancote Creek State Park. It's a beautiful park and the lake and it's a proven great fishery under the care of the Arkansas State Parks. the Arkansas Gaming Fish Commission, and it's all there for the public. When all the land was purchased, construction began, and a big levy was built.

It took a while, but the lake area flooded, and as a result of the timber inside, eventually died leaving standing snags that would fall and be reclaimed by Mother Earth and all her witness. Now, during that time, we took full advantage of the water, and for several years we put a pretty good smashing on the ducks. Now, this was still a few years before we started our guiding business, and on this day, it was me, Tim, and our good friend Andy Johnson. Now, Andy and I had worked together at a forestry consultant business, and he liked to duck hunt as much as we did. By the time of this hunt, most of the timber had fallen down, so just traveling around the lake was pretty risky.

You had to go slow and pick your way around the boat lanes and watching for logs that had drifted into the routes that were cut out, and you had to make sure you didn't hit a stump if you had to go around one that did. The timber, having nearly all fallen, presented another challenge as well. Where are you going to hide? Now, none of us like hunting out of a boat, even though that was a very productive

and a safe way to shoot ducks in those conditions. No, we were purists. And you duck hunt standing beside a tree and need deep water, just like folks in the Bible did. Well, we figured they did anyway. so we'd make the treacherous trek dodging snags and blowdowns out to a spot that when the timber was alive, it was tailor-made for duck hunting. It was a hole about 40 yards wide and ringed with material trees. The water was knee-deep in there at that stage of the lake's progression and the ground was mostly solid with a few old stump holes here and there.

The stump holes had silted in and looked solid from above the water, but if you stepped in one, you'd sink up to your straddle and you'd think you were headed to the other side of the planet because you'd rarely ever touch the bottom. You'd get wet and someone would usually have to come help you get out. That was what we worried about, stepping in a hole or snagging a limb causing you a leak in your waiters while we walked around putting out decoys or picking up ducks or just traveling from one spot to another. The thought of being driven in the ground like a tent peg never crossed our minds. It was cold and crisp and a bluebird day. The only thing missing was wind, which if it had

been blowing, we wouldn't have been hunting in that spot because of all the dead timber. We would have been on the bank somewhere and relatively safety hidden among the live trees on the edge of the lake where there was no threat to our health and safety. But like hunting from a boat, that wasn't what real duck hunters did. Real duck hunters got out in the middle of the hardship and embraced the struggle. I'm glad I'm over that foolishness, but on this day, I was still very much in that frame of mind. We got in that spot way before daylight, put out the decoys, and everyone picked out their place to stand. Tim and Andy were about 15 yards apart, standing by medium-sized standing snags, and I was kind of,

quartered across the hole, not in the line of fire by any means, but standing by the biggest oak snag in the whole area. Now, we'd set the decoys where the ducks had to land out away from where we were all stationed and had a hard rule that no one shoots below the limb on a snag at the shooting end of the hole. Cripples were dispatched by who was closest and always in a direction away from everyone and only after making sure where everyone was and that we all knew someone was about to shoot on the water. Safety was something we took very seriously. It's rule one, and it still is.

We started scratching out a few ducks out of the groups that worked in that hole and only lacked one or two each for a limit when the mid-morning lull came around. Now, every duck hunter is familiar with that, and this one rolled in around 10 a.m. If you're not familiar with it, it's when the ducks just all of a sudden quit flying before eventually start and get up and stir around a little bit more. Now we could have left with a good mess of ducks already, but that ain't what duck hunters do.

Come on, man, you got to stay until you get all the law allows. Anyway, the mid-morning law. The conversation amongst all of us had died down to nothing. We were just all kind of just standing there, lost in our thoughts. No birds were singing. There was not one sound of anything. I looked at that tire and snag that I was standing beside and I marveled. at how big and straight it was.

It would have took all three of us to reach around it. There was three big limbs that had grown out from the trunk, and the lowest one was about, I don't know, 25 feet above my head. They were all on opposite sides of each other and had broken off at about the same distance from where they'd sprouted back with that tree, and the ground it grew on was claimed by those cats in France. It was a big tree, and it had been there a long, long time. I remember looking back over at Tim and Andy and they were looking at me.

No one said a word, and then a loud pop broke the silence. Now it wasn't like a firecracker or a kid's cork gun going off. It didn't sound like Dracula opening up his coffin lid. No, it was quick. It was heavy and it was a thick sound, like the sound of a humongous tree top breaking away from its base and plunging toward Earth at Termin. velocity. Now, I knew exactly what it was, even though I had never heard that exact sound before

my life. Now, you want to talk about time standing still? It did. I was looking at Tim when it popped, and I saw his eyes get wide and his face lose all its color, his expression going from indifferent to absolute horror in an instant. During that same instant, I took off running as hard and fast as I could in the knee deep water and I was instinctively running toward my brother. He was my protector just like always and he'd save and protect me again. I just had to get to him and I was running to him like my life depended on it because it actually did. I'd taken four or five strides toward him putting as much distance as I could between me

and the base of that tree solely focused on him, having never looked up. He started screaming, wrong way, wrong way, wrong. way. Perfect. 360 degrees on the compass, and I choose the one direction that was going to get me pounded like one of John Henry's railroad spikes. I hadn't had kids yet. I hadn't ever bought a house or ridden a motorcycle. The motorcycle thing was really bothering me because I was wishing I was on one at that

exact time and riding it away from that tree. Well, I stopped and I turned to go back the way I came when I heard the rush of wind that that tree top was making as it fell. And I felt the areas that went by my shoulder landing flat in the water less than a foot from where I had turned to make my retreat. My shoulders were hunched up and my eyes were closed

and I turned away from that wooden buzz bomb that was about to hit me when a wall of water came crashing down on me. Tim and Andy said I completely disappeared behind the water and they didn't know if I'd been hammered in the ground or not. But before that water had a chance, to run off of me Tim was standing beside me and checking to see if I was all there. I got my first look at that tree top. It was enormous and it would have easily sent me to the

happy hunting grounds had it hit me. Two hunts in the same area, 12 years apart. One lit the candle and the other one dang near blew it out. Contrasts and stories to be sure, but both very important in my continued growth as a human. We didn't hunt that place. anymore. I remember going back after all the timber had fallen, but not many times before it all did. We found other places and other opportunities to maim and kill ourselves, but that's a story for another day. But I miss duck hunting, more than I thought, a whole lot more. And it's not the duck hunting so much as it is the fellowship. Sharing the sights and the sounds of ducks as they respond to a call and pitching the decoys after circling around.

shining in the sun like feathered emerales is a sight to behold. I sat on the bench in that blind the other day beside my host, and we talked about old times and places we'd been to while our other friends were shooting ducks, and I was okay with that. So was he. Thank y'all so much for listening. I really enjoy telling these stories, and from the responses we're getting, apparently you folks enjoy hearing.

There's more duck hunting to come along with the everyday common household buffoonery you've grown accustomed to, which reminds me of something my friend Michael Roseman told me the other day. We were going to Kuna and he said that when they're listening in his shop and building lights that he hears that acoustic guitar music start playing, someone will say, Brent's fixing to do something dumb. Don't play cards with them folks. They're pretty sharp.

Until next week, this is Brent Reeves. Signing off. Y'all be careful. On blood trails, the stories don't end when the hunt is over. They just get darker. I've seen something in the road. I instantly thought it was a sleeping bag. And there was a full of blood.

Oh, my God, he doesn't have a hit. Blood Trails is a true crime podcast born in the outdoors. Where the terrain is unforgiving, the evidence is scarce, and the truth gets buried under brush and silence. Indications were he should be right there. But he wasn't. This season, we're going deeper. From cold case files to whispered suspicions, from remote mountains to frozen backwards. Each story begins in the wilderness and ends in darkness.

Because out here, there are no witnesses, no cameras, just fragments and the people left behind trying to piece them back together. He's not an honest person. He's incapable of being honest. Somebody somewhere knows something. I'm Jordan Sillers. Season 2 of Blood Trails premieres April 16th. Follow now on Apple, IHeart, YouTube, or wherever you get your podcasts.