'Always entertaining, instructing, motivating' — Mark Blazis left us special column about duck hunting

Editor's note: The following is an Outdoors column Mark Blazis wrote before his death in November. "Mark wrote this article intending it to be published in OUTDOORS in the Telegram," wrote Helen Blazis, his wife. "I feel your readers would like at least one last Mark Blazis article, which entertains, instructs and motivates."

For ducks and duck hunters, there’s nothing more beautiful than an undrained swamp. Their environmental importance is reflected in the richness of wildlife within them.

Last Tuesday morning, my son Matt guided me into his favorite swamp. It was opening day of duck season — Christmas for local waterfowl hunters.

Their secret world doesn’t make comfort a priority. Duck hunters can’t sleep late. If they do, they can miss the whole game. Action, especially on a mild, sunny day, can be all over shortly after sunrise and a single flurry of shots. To be in our blind well before first light, I had to set the alarm for 3:45 a.m.

As I sipped my coffee, rain was pounding hard thanks to a weakened but still-wet Hurricane Delta finally reaching us. Most reasonable people wouldn’t think of going out on such a morning. But ducks and duck hunters are different.

The former live on water and shed it unflinchingly from their meticulously water-proofed plumage. They actually seem to revel in rough weather, flying far more than. On warm, calm days, ducks often sit calmly for most of the day as if in a painting.

The duck hunter comes to rationalize that rough weather may not be comfortable, but it’s likely going to get the ducks moving and provide a lot more exciting shooting.

Serious duck hunters are prepared to dress just right for those extreme occasions. That means water-proof, hooded parkas — camouflaged, of course — and waterproof gloves, pants and waders. Camo is not an affectation. Ducks’ eyesight is uncanny. Most of them fly 40 to 50 mph and can still instantly spot a white face, a pair of white hands, or an unnatural movement from a hundred yards. Matt and I both wore masks, and Matt even resorted to blackening the skin around his eyes to minimize detection.

I must have a hardy, high-fat, belly-warming breakfast to endure a long, cold hunting morning. Tuesday’s breakfast was fast and simple: pickled herring with sour cream. I needed all the rest of the time for packing to meet Matt a little after 5 a.m. Packing for a duck hunter involves not only guns, ammo, calls, decoys, license and stamps — both federal and state — but also waders and reliable gear to keep you dry and warm. Last Tuesday, we had a deluge.

Non-hunters sometimes ask about our state and federal duck stamps, which every waterfowl hunter must purchase. They’ve proven invaluable because their sale has funded considerable wetland conservation and acquisition. If it weren’t for hunters’ money, there wouldn’t be much wetland habitat left for our waterfowl to thrive.

Besides the stamps, duck hunters have to take the HIP survey. HIP stands for harvest information program. Each year, every waterfowl hunter has to report what he shot the previous year. The information helps biologists formulate optimal seasons and bag limits. In sum, duck hunters have a lot to carry after a lot of preparation.

After a short drive together, both of us wearing masks inside the vehicle, our destination was a remote Worcester County swamp requiring a 20-minute walk through a forest. You can’t wear all your gear and do that without sweating and setting yourself up for freezing afterwards. So each of us carried big packs, along with water and snacks, and our heavy gear packed away.

Breathing heavily and starting to sweat from carrying the 30-pound pack and the 8-pound shotgun, I was relieved to finally reach our destination, which I had never been to before.

I didn’t realize, though, that we had to slug through one last further-demanding stretch of swamp that was a veritable sub-surface obstacle course of stumps, roots, clumps and dangers of unknown nature below the surface — every one of them capable of tripping a careless wader. The flashlight didn’t help with this hazardous labyrinth that was mostly waist-deep.

Once at the blind — and still dry underneath — we arranged everything to be ready for legal shooting time, which begins one-half hour before sunrise. That was 6:27 a.m. last Tuesday.

So we were obliged to wait — and soak up not only the rain blowing into the camo masks on our face, but also the sounds of rousing waterfowl. Despite the rain, we could hear not far off swimming wood ducks excitedly vocalizing in the flooded timbers. Some actually had begun flying off.

As darkness melted away in the rain, I marveled at our accommodations. Matt had obviously labored hard for several weeks to scout out a great location and build his blind. Its framework was solid, comfortable and covered with natural vegetation that blended in perfectly with our surroundings.

At legal shooting time, I had my over-and-under Beretta 12-gauge loaded with high-brass shot. Ducks are hard to hit because they fly fast — far faster than the pheasants I’ve spent much of my life pursuing. They often give you no more than a couple of seconds to swing on them and shoot before they’ve rocketed by. And most will often pass either too far out or too high.

If you’re talented enough to call them in to decoys, you’re in a realm that most duck hunters aspire to. So I was amazed when Matt knocked down a blue-winged teal, zooming past us. He soon did the same to two drake wood ducks. I finally added to our dinner banquet with a mallard.

None of these ducks cruised more slowly than 30 mph. Ducks’ amazing flight speed can be increased significantly with strong tail winds. Shooting a small target traveling 40 to 50 mph means that a hunter will often empty a couple boxes of shells by the time he gets his limit of six birds.

Adding to the difficulty of shooting ducks consistently well is their ability to instantly change directions, especially if there are heavy crosswinds. We experienced all those amazing flight capabilities that had us giving a lot of respect to these birds last Tuesday.

The luckiest duck hunters have great retrievers to finish a perfect shot. Unfortunately, Matt’s Lab, Boone, couldn’t be called upon to team up with us in this swamp. Under its flat, deceptive surface were countless spear-sharp dead trunks and stumps upon which we feared he would have impaled himself, blindly leaping into the water to retrieve our ducks.

The long drought had further lowered the swamp so much that our canoe was rendered useless. So, Matt was our designated retriever. If you’ve ever waded a wooded swamp, you know that every step is a potential dunking. Matt somehow stayed totally dry — and retrieved all of our birds.

When our hunt was over, I had the privilege of carrying all of our ducks back in my pack. Matt carried my gun and his bigger pack. When we got to his pickup, there were two gentlemen there waiting for us, one from the environmental police, and the other from the federal government. They’re doing their best to protect our wildlife from law-breaking game thieves.

We showed them our shotguns, which mustn’t be able to hold more than three shots. And they can’t be heavier than 12 gauges. They checked our shells, which can’t have toxic lead pellets. Of course, they wanted to check our stamps and licenses – as well as our birds. We knew our limits and didn’t go over six birds. We left as friends.

Soaked, chilled, and tired, Matt and I smiled, knowing dinner that night would be gourmet — duck breasts that only duck hunters could ever fully appreciate.

This article originally appeared on Telegram & Gazette: Mark Blazis leaves us with Outdoors column on duck hunting before his death