Cletus and Ollie
Jeff Stanfield for SPLIT REED
Cletus was a retired, 65-year-old teacher from Buffalo, Kansas. He had three loves in his life- food, waterfowl hunting, and his black lab, Ollie. After 40 years of working as a history teacher, he had finally made his retirement. He now wanted to cross off his bucket list goal of hunting from the top of Canada to the bottom of the flyway, with his faithful dog, Ollie, at his side.
Ollie was 3 years old. He slept in the house and loved the cookies that Cletus’ wife Dawn would bake for people as gifts, or on social occasions like funerals, weddings, and other events that happened in town. Dawn was famous around town for her ability to cook and keep her husband in line (which wasn’t an easy task).
However, Cletus’ life-long goal to hunt the entire flyway took a hit after the government shut down the Canadian border once the global pandemic broke out. All those dreams of starting in Northern Canada went up in smoke. Cletus found himself mumbling quite often, “Damn COVID and the snowflakes. Let me hunt! That’s all I want! I finally got to retire and now it’s all shut down. Just let us hunt!”. Finally, and only after some thorough studying and learning, Cletus decided the next best option was to load up the Chevy truck and head to North Dakota in the first part of October for some early season action.
Cletus had a couple of hunting buddies, all retired, so getting them away from the old ladies would be easy, but this trip was going to be about him and Otis. Otis Earl, his best friend from childhood, was going to make the trip for sure. They grew up together, you know, back when rock ‘n roll was rock ‘n roll, when everyone loved America, and no one was confused about which bathroom to use. They decided to make the trip with 20 dozen Dive Bomb silhouettes, 5 spinners, and 3 dozen full bodies. They had layout blinds, A-Frames, 3 dozen floaters, and a cooler full of beer and cold cuts. These old boys were ready for NoDak; to see what memories they could make! With the Missouri river in mind as the best destination, they pulled out of Southern Kansas and hit the pavement.
Cletus loved the old prints by Terry Redline and the way he depicted the “good ol’ days”. That was his dream, to see the real-life versions of the prints he grew up admiring. Just a river, a good friend, and man’s best friend. The best route was Highway 75 to Omaha. Finally, after 40 years of teaching kids history- from George Washington to Donald Trump, he was free! No wife on his ass about taking out the trash, the car being warmed up, getting the yard mowed, drama with the kids, or the grandkids. Nope! He was on the road chasing his dreams. A two-week trip of knocking on doors, eating steaks, drinking whiskey, shooting birds, and visiting with his best friend and his favorite dog.
The road trip plan: kiss the old lady goodbye, pull out of the drive, turn on the radio and listen to his favorite podcast. The Big Honker Podcast. With some opinionated fat guy from Texas and his son talking about the day’s topic. He just wishes they would leave football out of it. “3...2...1...BOOM” and off Omaha, then to Sioux Falls, Fargo, and then finally head West to Washburn. Washburn is the home of Fort Mandan and a place that Lewis and Clark spent their winter of 1804 on their great adventure. Now it was time for Cletus, Otis Earl, and Ollie to make it their great adventure.
Cletus checked into the Captain’s Cabins in Washburn and ended the day with a medium-rare steak and a nice big glass of Crown. He sat back and the daunting reality that he was in his last years began to set in. He and Dawn had raised three kids. All successful. They had six grandkids- all happy and healthy. He was now in his twilight years, and from now on he was going to take four months of each remaining year and chase the sound of whistling wings. This was stop number one.
The alarm clock went off at 4:30. Neither he nor Otis had slept a wink between the fact of someone needing to piss every hour, the excitement of ducks, or the new bed they laid in. It was now time for coffee and even more windshield time. The morning brought light wind and 45-degree temperatures. Nothing to be too excited about but it was time to scout and it’s better than trying to get around in the rain. Highway 83 runs along the Missouri River, so Otis Earl suggested they have a good breakfast and wait for the sun to peek out. That way they can see the birds and follow them to a feed.
After some pancakes and visiting with a few locals, they decided to go to a cut cornfield that had some local geese and a few ducks in it. Cletus was still baffled about a sight he took in at the local cafe. A group of young guns with flat-billed hats and all that digital yoga pants looking camouflage. “I just don’t get it”, Cletus mumbled, “why on Earth would you pass up a set of wool bibs, a mackinaw jacket, and plaid, just to look like a woman with a moose knuckle? Damn Facebook, and the internet for making waterfowlers look this way. Vintage works! It looks good and you can tell a man from a boy!”. Cletus kept thinking to himself, “I’m sure they also had oatmeal with almond milk. You ever see tits on a nut? Fake milk. One of them ordered turkey bacon and no caffeine in his coffee. How in the hell can we expect these guys to actually have kids, much less raise them to hunt?”
The duo headed East, out of town to meet up with Clyde Musgrove. A local farmer who was to show them his fields along the Missouri River. Cletus looked over his dream rows of cut corn, with a waterhole right in the middle. About a 30-yard circle of flooded rainwater, maybe 6 inches deep. He sat with Otis and glassed the rest of the situation. Clyde told the two to help themselves and enjoy the hunt. Cletus offered him some of the ducks and geese they were intending to shoot. “I raise beef, I’m not eating no damn duck or goose,” Clyde laughs. The two decided to hunt the hole and come in around 2 pm and push off the loafing birds. They would be running an A-frame with 5 dozen Dive Bombs, a dozen floater duck decoys, and to keep it old school and leave the spinners at home for the afternoon. With light winds, it didn’t really matter where they set up, but they concluded that the West side of the drowned-out low spot would be best. It may not have lots of cover, but the sun would work to their advantage.
The blind was set up in 15 minutes, with a couple of shooting stools. Now it was two old men and a dog. They busted open a bag full of #5’s and it was time. When the two had set up they kicked around 100 ducks off the water. Mostly gadwalls, a few mallards, and some wigeon. Cletus had always heard that wigeon love to give it all up when they turn into the decoys, so he was eager to find out for himself. They hadn’t been in the blind more than 5 minutes when Otis hit his Pacific Wood Aces duck call, and that baby can purr. An old drake gray duck, as Cletus’ cajun friends call them, sits his fat ass down in the dekes. Otis glanced at Cletus, Cletus glanced at Ollie, and said “Well hell! Is Otis gonna shoot him or take a damn picture?” Otis pulled up and put the number 5 shot in the sweet spot. Day 1 was now off to a great start.
Ollie made a great retrieve and came back strutting as if he’d just been laid on prom night. Otis, a 64-year-old, asks the same damn thing after every bird he kills- “Does it have a band?”. What the hell. Cletus had to laugh to himself and think that Otis would be wearing flat-brimmed hats and drinking designer beer before the two left NoDak.
The next action that came in was a pair of blue wings. The pair must’ve been lost, being the first weekend of October. They should be drinkin’ margaritas down on the beach in México. Cletus had his hands around a Browning over-and-under, and his buddy “Hollywood” looking for all the bands over there, was shooting an 1100 his dad had given to him as a present for high school graduation in the ’70s. The two whiffed on the pair of teal like two old men. Ollie looked them both over with embarrassment.
Three young mallards came in next. They didn’t even circle once, coming right off the Missouri and into the flooded corn. None of them got to see a trip down the flyway. Two old guys, 5 rounds of BOSS 5’s, and 3 dead (mostly) greenheads. Now Cletus was on the board. After Otis had checked for bands, the two settled into a groove. They hit their Pacific cocobolo calls, the birds would land in the dekes, and Ollie would retrieve. By the time the flight really had started the duo had killed 4 mallards, 3 gray ducks, and a few teal- it was a great start to day one.
A small group of honkers worked the spread but they wouldn’t finish. Cletus and Ollie decided that they were there to enjoy their days, not wound a bunch of birds that won’t come into the spread. They wouldn’t be shooting unless they had feet down. An old-school approach for two old guys.
The two started to pick up at the day’s end when Clyde showed up to help them out and drive them back to the truck. Hospitality is just so much better in small-town America, and so much more appreciated…
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