Here is a duck hunting funny

With the killing season upon us, and me sitting here with some broke nuts, my wife and kids watching the food network, I might as well write. Bored as I am, and with my Cardinals gone from World Series contention, RB reminded me of one of my finest moments.

This story, although true from start to finish, it may not be something you want to read with food or drink in your mouth. Again, I offer this only as a service to those younger then me, because this could happen to you, and you need to be ready.

At this particular point in my hunting career, I was, each day, working until 11pm, sleeping for an hour or so, and then driving 2 hours to a wade-in public area. It was only a 30 day season back then, and my body adjusted as such:

Work
Sleep for an hour in my truck
Pick up my buds
Drive two hours
Take a crap
Gear up
Walk 2 miles
Set up
Hunt
Drive home
Sleep for 3 or 4 hours
Repeat

I realize in this era of 60 day seasons, with zones that can easily stretch it to 90 days, my daily regimen seems foreign to some of you youngsters. Learn some history, it may save you.

I guess I was about halfway through my season when the subject of this story reared it's ugly head, but, looking back, and as a lesson to be learned, it could have happened any day.

We arrived at the parking lot at about 3:30, just like every other day. If I remember right, I was more then tired on this particular drive, and actually crawled into the back of my truck to get some extra sleep while I let one of my partners make the drive.

I rolled out, stretched, and took a short walk to get my bowels moving. If your so inclined, you can go back toward the start of this story and see that step five is taking a crap.....it's just what I like to do before I put my waders on and begin a force march down a levee....who doesn't?

To this day I can't say what was wrong, but I didn't have to *!@#@*. I walked a bit longer then usual, jumped up and down a few minutes, even drank some cold coffee.........nothing. I figured, piss on it, gimme my waders, no worries.

Still, all the way down that levee I'm thinking, "dude, you KNOW you're gonna have to take a crap", but nothing happens.

At the end of the walk we head out to the hole. It's about a 1/4 mile walk through waist deep water to a spot where there is a break of 6 foot willows. Most days, we sit back against the willows and rain hell on ducks coming back from the fields looking for water.

After the walk we throw out a few dozen decoys and wait the next hour or so until shooting time. The wait is the same as the wait we all still make when hunting a public area where it's important to beat the crown in. Not much you can do about it.

I sit back against a particularly stout willow, break open a thermos with some luke warm coffee, and fire me up a spud to pass the time and relax.....and then it hits me.

I don't know how your crap works, but mine don't give me alot of warning. At the first clue of downward bowel movement I head for somewhere I can squat down. Taking a quick look around, I instinctively realize I'm in a bit of trouble.

My first bad move is looking around where I stand, I wasted precious seconds. But, I've *!@#@* from a tree before, so it made perfect sense, to me, to check the diameter of the willows in close proximity. Nothing close to being able to hold me, I'm quickly on the move, with no idea where I'm going, praying I can make the levee before the......uh.........flood.

I gave my leave to my partners, and guess I'd went about 60 yards before I realized that I'd slept through the 6th grade science class where we were taught that beer, beef jerky, sunflower seeds, and brandy won't make a solid, but looking back at my childhood failings wasn't helping now anyway. I was in trouble.

At some point in my walk, my flashlight ended up in my hand. I can't say when I grabbed it, because I was busy as hell concentrating on holding back the, well, I guess most of you know it as a "turtle head". Once you get older that anology won't hold as well. Sometimes it's a turtle, sometimes it's a snake, and sometimes it's a water slide.....you've got to get older to understand it.

So there I am, walking, stopping, pinching, praying, shining my light, walking, stopping, pinching, praying, shining my light.

And there it is, hell, I KNEW it was there, a big !@# tree down in the middle of this field. I'd seen it before and wondered how the hell that tree ended up there to begin with, but right now, it didn't matter. I headed towards it as fast as I could, stopping, pinching, praying.

By now I was in a seriously bad situation.....you can try to imagine it if you want, but I can barely make 3 or 4 feet before I have to stop again. I need to get nearly 50 feet behind me, and still be able to crawl up on it. I can relate the next 30 feet to you, but it's pretty damn repetitive, so there ain't no point.

Maybe 20 feet from salvation, I'm done. I can't say for sure if biology got me or I just gave up. I was tired. I stood there, pinching, and just quit. I can tell you that in that particular momment I was happy to quit.....I was in pain.

When the first wave rushed out of me and into my pants it felt kind of weird. It was maybe 35 degrees that morning, and when 98.6 degrees of *!@#@* starts filling your pants it just feels strange. But, if you've been holding it in long enough that your teeth hurt, it also feels good.....and so I just let it go. Hell, I was tired of fighting, and now I stood there actually taking a crap, in my pants. I can remember wishing I had a magazine. I didn't move for 4 or 5 minutes, even let myself lean back a bit in the waist deep water. Looking back, I've never taken a crap that felt better. Yeah, it felt kind of bad when it started running down my legs, but I didn't really have anywhere else I needed to be right then, and I felt an overwhelming sense of relief.

So there I am. My underwear, pants, and maybe even my socks, are full of *!@#@*. The good news is I don't have to crap anymore, and there is still 30 minutes until shooting time. I head for the tree.

I climb on up onto the tree, and it's plenty big enough around for me to take care of business. It takes me a minute to formulate a plan, but soon enough I'm stripping my upper clothes off. I figure I need something to clean up with once I get to the mess, and my tee-shirt will fit the bill. Once I get my upper clothes off I begin the operation to get to my soiled clothes. I take my waders off and lay them on the tree next to me. I peel my pants off and realize that I won't be able to put them back on, the leakage through my long-johns was worse then I feared. Throw the pants in the water. Throw the long-johns in the water. Peal my underwear off and throw them in the water....along with my socks that covered with crap when I pulled the rest of my clothes over them.

So there I am, completely naked, standing on a downed tree in the middle of 400 acres of waist deep water, covered in *!@#@* from the waist down.

Taking stock, I'm really not in too bad a shape. My upper clothes are dry and my waders are not soiled. I'm good.

I lean over and get my tee-shirt good and wet and begin to clean myself up. Get the tee-shirt wet, clean, rinse, repeat. About the third time I swish the tee-shirt in the water I think I hear some swishing that I ain't making....and I straighten up and stand still. I guess there is a time in your life where your senses may be more keen then when you are standing naked on a log, but I've not had that experience yet.....I can hear EVERYTHING....and right about the time I hear the water again I can see the light panning back and forth. Oh, hell NO!!!

If you duck hunt, you know how depth and sound and voices can play tricks on you in the dark......goddamit, just how close are these bastards?

I guess I've got my !@# and one leg clean, but I've got work to do!! I start rinsing the tee-shirt again, frantically now, and cleaning and rinsing, and rinsing and cleaning, and.....now I can hear these sumbitches.....one of them actually says, "that tree is right here somewhere"....and the light is searching....and it's one of those damn big !@# hand held spotlight deals and, before I know what the hell happens ,that sucker stops right on me....naked, with a *!@#@* tee-shirt in my hand. One of those bastards says, "DAMN!!" Well, yeah, damn. Then he says, "you OK?" I says, "no, I *!@#@* in my pants". And the same dude says, "DAMN".......like he's never *!@#@* in his pants before. I yell, "get the @#&%^$* light off me". One of them says, "you hunting here?" "Uh, no, I'm cleaning my !@# here and then I'm hunting back over there." Now they bust up laughing and I'm so tore up laughing I can't hardly finish cleaning up.

In the end, they walked off, I cleaned up, and went back to my buds.....still a few minutes before shooting time. I tell them the story and we miss the first 20 minutes or so because we're laughing so hard.

I can tell you, if you ain't ever hunted naked in your waders, give it a run, you'll enjoy it....even if driving home naked in your waders ain't all that great

Sounds like some tales from Newton County where I growd up at

I've either read this story before, or read someone elses all but exactly like it. Trees, levee, lights, and all. Surely no two people could mess their waders that same way. Ok, well maybe they could, but I hate it for both of you. :D :D

After reading this story i have come to the conclusion that there ain't nothing you won't tell and i don't even know you. But i can relate to you i have IBS and there better be a place real close. I know everyplace that has a restroom for 100 square miles here in southern Indiana.

:D Brother that's good stuff :)

We're all human and have had stuff happen hunting/fishing/golfing..etc....

Glad it worked out. ;)

Nice....

Cut our underware out to use? Know I have. Kinda hard to now though with the whole Commando thang going on :cool:

Tmi Dd....wth