silveragent
12-10-2022, 04:42 PM
Had a memorable misadventure at Boundary Bay this morning. Most of the time Boundary is dead easy, very flat, not as many hazards as other places and you can stay out of the wet most of the time. But not today.
Boundary had tides in excess of 4 meters. In my mind all I thought was "oh good, I get to use my floater dekes" but I was not prepared to see almost the entire foreshore inundated.
Where my usual pattern is to find a piece of scrub and sit right on the edge of the water knowing that the shallow nature of the bay would generally make it easy for human retrieves, I was so wrong today. Just walking in from the dyke the water at dawn was already up to the thighs. My two partners for the day had forged on ahead as I had arrived later and I met them part way off the dyke coming in the opposite direction. "What happened?" Answer: Friend #1 one had stepped in a bad hole and went down. Despite being a two season veteran of Boundary he had stepped into one of the bigger channels and was now soaked.
While waiting for him to extricate himself, my other friend and I discussed a new plan seeing as there was basically little ground that was out of the water and none of us had brought stools. Plus, as I looked around for other hunters' lights, I became aware that my one year old TideWe waders had begun to seep water into the my left leg. And feeling that water made me realize the water was damn cold. Last week the ground was frozen and this week it was still frigid.
Finally getting within earshot of my struggling friend, we decided to try to tough it out. Seeing as EVERYWHERE was the water's edge at this point, we chose a section close to a channel we knew was productive and began throwing dekes out. However, since neither of us had brought any kind of standing blind we were basically deciding the day was a lark and we would see what we could get. Thankfully, two of us had brought sleds so at least our equipment was going to be dry.
As we were throwing out decoys, we realized that for those who did brave the driving rain and the wind, the conditions were very good for ducks. So although at this point I was nursing a cold left foot, I was beginning to feel it might be worth the suffering. Indeed, ducks began circling and the group that had left just before us had already begun shooting. Soon enough, we were ready to join in not knowing that it would shortly become a real misadventure.
For one thing. even though ducks were sailing in, standing out in the open was surely an advertisement for them to stay away. Remarkably, singles and doubles were still willing to play and we got of our initial shots while doing our best to pretend to be immobile trees. However, incredibly, between three decent shots, we began missing what looked like easy opportunities. Cupping ducks flapped away unscathed. Fat mallards seemed to be armored after being peppered. Could it be we were actually that bad? Was the 10k wind throwing off the shot?
Still, it wasn't long until one of us brought down what looked like a wigeon. However, even though the shot was well within 20y, the dying fowl managed to flutter a 100y away. As our friend waded off to find that one, the neighbouring group brought down a drake that was over their heads and it also sailed off well away. We waved them over and indicated where it landed but they seemed unwilling to come. Shouting for our friend to look for two ducks, we turned back to opportunities in front of us.
That opportunity turned out to be a flight of at least fifteen snow geese. Appearing as dots out of the haze of the rain and darkness, the two of us who weren't occupied realized the gift approaching our way and yelled at each other to get ready. Sure enough, those dots got bigger and they joyfully were rowing through the air directly for our position. Telling my friend "wait wait wait", we were able to wait until they were point blank before we started shooting. As the flight scattered, I saw that we had brought down three, stone dead.
However, that was the start of the end - at least for me. Although the birds fell what looked like only 25y away, it might as well have been on the moon. To my dismay I saw that the two that I had downed fell into the fast moving channel that had earlier sucked in my friend at the start of the morning.
At this point, my left leg was already full of water. Thinking it couldn't get that much worse, I decided I had to retrieve the two snowies and secured my shotgun in my sled and left it to go a'wading.
Many of you who have done this know how perilous human retrieval can be in deep water. You don't know where the holes are, you can only search your memory for where the channel might deepen, where a small stream you could hop over in low tide is now a potential malestrom. Gingerly, now, I strode into waist deep water that increased in height with every step.
I was able to retrieve the first snowie without much issue, thankfully dead and only mobile because of the incoming tide. The second one, however, was now being taken up by an eddy and was now quickly being driven out of legal bounds. In retrospect, I should have just let it go and then circled around from the dyke side hoping to mark where it went. But unwilling to let it go when it seemed tantalizingly within reach, I took an extra few steps too far and sunk down over my chest and over my face.
Coming up sputtering and tasting brackish water, I could feel the frigid water rush into my waders and briefly felt panic strike me. Looking around I realized even going down that deep I was still close enough to either shore that IF I could swim, I was in no real danger. But at that moment I remember thinking: is any bird worth it? And I decided - YES. So even with my waders by now icy and filled, I threw myself at the remaining snow goose one-handed while clutching the other one close. And swimming awkwardly, I was able to kick my way to the bird and secured it.
It was then after getting my footing again, I realized I had ended my day in a miserable fashion. Struggling up onto the opposite bank I could see my friend and his bird well within shouting distance but with the same channel that had sucked in both of us at different times seeming like an impossible gulf. And standing up, I could feel the freeze now paralyzing my legs and shortly the rest of my body.
Shivering in the cold, I knew immediately my day was over and that my chances of making my way back to the our original spot were not good. I shouted to my friends that I was headed back and plead with them to take my gear back with with them while I tried to find a safe way for me to get back to the dyke. They agreed but I was then faced with a twenty minute odyssey to get back to solid ground.
As I held the two snow geese like twin newborns in both arms, I slogged, fell, staggered through the swamp with my only goal to get back to my car. Logs floated past, seagulls mocked my progress and I could still hear my friends and other hunters bringing down ducks. Meanwhile, with each step it felt like ice had formed blocks around my feet and my core was rapidly become a solid ice block. I must have dropped those snowies twice over.
Finally making it to the dyke, I looked back and I couldn't believe how short a distance it seemed. But I was damned cold and I needed to get dry. Back with my car, I was grateful to have prepared for such an event by having an extra set of clothes. Peeling myself out of the waders full of icy water was another challenge and I was sorely temped to cut them right off my legs. The heat from my old car took its sweet time blowing and I was exhausted besides. Once out of the soggy clothes, I walked barefoot on the pavement and it seemed much warmer than the clothes I was in. Not so long after, having gotten into my dry clothes, I went back to the dyke to see that my friends had also pulled up stakes and were almost back.
After gathering at our cars, thankful that we had only suffered that much, I gratefully gifted one of my geese to the friend who dragged back my sled back to shore. Then after saying goodbyes I filled my body with hot tea until I could control my shivering enough to drive safely home.
Boundary had tides in excess of 4 meters. In my mind all I thought was "oh good, I get to use my floater dekes" but I was not prepared to see almost the entire foreshore inundated.
Where my usual pattern is to find a piece of scrub and sit right on the edge of the water knowing that the shallow nature of the bay would generally make it easy for human retrieves, I was so wrong today. Just walking in from the dyke the water at dawn was already up to the thighs. My two partners for the day had forged on ahead as I had arrived later and I met them part way off the dyke coming in the opposite direction. "What happened?" Answer: Friend #1 one had stepped in a bad hole and went down. Despite being a two season veteran of Boundary he had stepped into one of the bigger channels and was now soaked.
While waiting for him to extricate himself, my other friend and I discussed a new plan seeing as there was basically little ground that was out of the water and none of us had brought stools. Plus, as I looked around for other hunters' lights, I became aware that my one year old TideWe waders had begun to seep water into the my left leg. And feeling that water made me realize the water was damn cold. Last week the ground was frozen and this week it was still frigid.
Finally getting within earshot of my struggling friend, we decided to try to tough it out. Seeing as EVERYWHERE was the water's edge at this point, we chose a section close to a channel we knew was productive and began throwing dekes out. However, since neither of us had brought any kind of standing blind we were basically deciding the day was a lark and we would see what we could get. Thankfully, two of us had brought sleds so at least our equipment was going to be dry.
As we were throwing out decoys, we realized that for those who did brave the driving rain and the wind, the conditions were very good for ducks. So although at this point I was nursing a cold left foot, I was beginning to feel it might be worth the suffering. Indeed, ducks began circling and the group that had left just before us had already begun shooting. Soon enough, we were ready to join in not knowing that it would shortly become a real misadventure.
For one thing. even though ducks were sailing in, standing out in the open was surely an advertisement for them to stay away. Remarkably, singles and doubles were still willing to play and we got of our initial shots while doing our best to pretend to be immobile trees. However, incredibly, between three decent shots, we began missing what looked like easy opportunities. Cupping ducks flapped away unscathed. Fat mallards seemed to be armored after being peppered. Could it be we were actually that bad? Was the 10k wind throwing off the shot?
Still, it wasn't long until one of us brought down what looked like a wigeon. However, even though the shot was well within 20y, the dying fowl managed to flutter a 100y away. As our friend waded off to find that one, the neighbouring group brought down a drake that was over their heads and it also sailed off well away. We waved them over and indicated where it landed but they seemed unwilling to come. Shouting for our friend to look for two ducks, we turned back to opportunities in front of us.
That opportunity turned out to be a flight of at least fifteen snow geese. Appearing as dots out of the haze of the rain and darkness, the two of us who weren't occupied realized the gift approaching our way and yelled at each other to get ready. Sure enough, those dots got bigger and they joyfully were rowing through the air directly for our position. Telling my friend "wait wait wait", we were able to wait until they were point blank before we started shooting. As the flight scattered, I saw that we had brought down three, stone dead.
However, that was the start of the end - at least for me. Although the birds fell what looked like only 25y away, it might as well have been on the moon. To my dismay I saw that the two that I had downed fell into the fast moving channel that had earlier sucked in my friend at the start of the morning.
At this point, my left leg was already full of water. Thinking it couldn't get that much worse, I decided I had to retrieve the two snowies and secured my shotgun in my sled and left it to go a'wading.
Many of you who have done this know how perilous human retrieval can be in deep water. You don't know where the holes are, you can only search your memory for where the channel might deepen, where a small stream you could hop over in low tide is now a potential malestrom. Gingerly, now, I strode into waist deep water that increased in height with every step.
I was able to retrieve the first snowie without much issue, thankfully dead and only mobile because of the incoming tide. The second one, however, was now being taken up by an eddy and was now quickly being driven out of legal bounds. In retrospect, I should have just let it go and then circled around from the dyke side hoping to mark where it went. But unwilling to let it go when it seemed tantalizingly within reach, I took an extra few steps too far and sunk down over my chest and over my face.
Coming up sputtering and tasting brackish water, I could feel the frigid water rush into my waders and briefly felt panic strike me. Looking around I realized even going down that deep I was still close enough to either shore that IF I could swim, I was in no real danger. But at that moment I remember thinking: is any bird worth it? And I decided - YES. So even with my waders by now icy and filled, I threw myself at the remaining snow goose one-handed while clutching the other one close. And swimming awkwardly, I was able to kick my way to the bird and secured it.
It was then after getting my footing again, I realized I had ended my day in a miserable fashion. Struggling up onto the opposite bank I could see my friend and his bird well within shouting distance but with the same channel that had sucked in both of us at different times seeming like an impossible gulf. And standing up, I could feel the freeze now paralyzing my legs and shortly the rest of my body.
Shivering in the cold, I knew immediately my day was over and that my chances of making my way back to the our original spot were not good. I shouted to my friends that I was headed back and plead with them to take my gear back with with them while I tried to find a safe way for me to get back to the dyke. They agreed but I was then faced with a twenty minute odyssey to get back to solid ground.
As I held the two snow geese like twin newborns in both arms, I slogged, fell, staggered through the swamp with my only goal to get back to my car. Logs floated past, seagulls mocked my progress and I could still hear my friends and other hunters bringing down ducks. Meanwhile, with each step it felt like ice had formed blocks around my feet and my core was rapidly become a solid ice block. I must have dropped those snowies twice over.
Finally making it to the dyke, I looked back and I couldn't believe how short a distance it seemed. But I was damned cold and I needed to get dry. Back with my car, I was grateful to have prepared for such an event by having an extra set of clothes. Peeling myself out of the waders full of icy water was another challenge and I was sorely temped to cut them right off my legs. The heat from my old car took its sweet time blowing and I was exhausted besides. Once out of the soggy clothes, I walked barefoot on the pavement and it seemed much warmer than the clothes I was in. Not so long after, having gotten into my dry clothes, I went back to the dyke to see that my friends had also pulled up stakes and were almost back.
After gathering at our cars, thankful that we had only suffered that much, I gratefully gifted one of my geese to the friend who dragged back my sled back to shore. Then after saying goodbyes I filled my body with hot tea until I could control my shivering enough to drive safely home.