A Camp That Never Sleeps
Emily Ann Bosler for SPLIT REED
Cover Photo: Cristina Wing
Opening morning, the day those who pay their dues late each year (and accidentally overlook the messages calling for an extra hand) suddenly appear, fully prepared to ride the bench of the top blind. While most of us have at one point or another been guilty of being this waterfowler, this is a call for greater awareness of the preparation that begins the minute the season ends. From the moment the very last “cut ‘em!” call rings out, camp and club owners have already drop-kicked the domino that sets into motion a chain of events to usher in the next successful season. It is my hope that as you tuck into the secrecy of the blind as a mass of wings make their iridescent final descent directly into the spread, you will consider the calloused hands that went into each rigged decoy and meticulously placed piece of oak brush or rice straw stubble.
The final hunt of the year marks the beginning of an entirely new season for those who maintain waterfowl properties. The off-season for some begins with pumping out pits of mud, debris, litter, and the bonus vermin or pest. Decoys are swept from their honorable positions in the field to be properly inspected, cleaned, and stored. Machines, equipment, and boats await maintenance. The number of camp houses and club members is also in direct proportion to the amount of effort being poured in throughout the non-hunting months.
As spring approaches, agriculture becomes of the utmost importance. Those who farm and plant their own land are focused on their crops at large, while those who lease properties are equally intent on ensuring the yield of vegetation and growth of natural camouflage around pits or blinds that is beyond the reach of farming equipment. In the dead heat of summer, as mosquitoes threaten to carry the entirety of a small Arkansas town away, the duck club longs for willing volunteers. Summer fades into early fall, early-season gives an eager nod, and the sense of urgency presses in. Before the leaves turn, before the rice fields are disced, each blind and pit await a final disguise. No machine exists that can replicate the intricacy of hand-placing each bundle of Mother Nature’s camouflage.
Be the hunter who shows up for the work weekends, skipping a lake day or a beach trip for some good ole dust inhalation and manual labor. What it lacks in glamour, it pays in an indescribable satisfaction. Knowing that your blood, sweat, and probably swear words played some role in that Instagram-worthy opening morning only makes it that much more rewarding. As the unspoken traditions of waterfowl hunting reach far beyond the blind, I guarantee that your participation will be both remembered and celebrated in many seasons to come.
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