Lone Star Parson: Blinded!

My mental alarm got me up just before 0500 and then the physical alarm kicked in, not to be outdone by my not-so-smart-phone, buzzing with textual insistence above the din of the cheap made in China plastic clock.

At this point you have two options. Turn the racket off and go back to sleep, in which case your position's likely to get overrun, or turn the din off, answer Putin's texts, get up, and advance to contact. I chose the latter option and one gassed up rig later I was on my way to a duck blind, somewhere in Texas.

I got there pretty much on time, after driving through the narrow, winding, pitch black rural roads of the Lone Star State, and walked across a field through fierce cold wind to the blind. Red light, camo, and a group of guys with guns in the enclosed metal space.

It brought me back to the army, the smell and the sight of it, along with the building adrenaline of putting those guns to work any time soon in the predawn. I liked that, I liked the strong black coffee that came with it, too.

Then, just before first light, calling began and several flocks of ducks flew over, fast overhead and out of range. Up! Front! A group of birds appeared like magic out of the half-light in front of the blind. A split second of action, the explosion and muzzle flash of the guns, and it was over.

I shot poorly but several birds were down and we waited for more. No joy. Perhaps the stiff chill wind and choppy water of the lake persuaded the ducks to look for a calmer place to land. Maybe an incoming cold front had altered their flight plan. Who knows.

What we do know is that it was worth getting up early and getting out in the field. Big fun. It might even make sense to bivvy up overnight and be in position to shoot the next day, which would save the drive but make for a cold evening. We'll see.

So, a good morning was had by all and then it was back to the Compound to regroup and the next evolution, visiting the sick. But that, readers, is another story.