A Tradition Officially

The 2nd annual season opener in central Maine proved to be quite the trip, as it exceeded the success of year one and proved to be one great time. For a salty sea ducker like myself, I have found one great appreciation in the pursuit of different waterfowl. Once again, my great friend Steve effectively illustrated his continued development of duck calling, mastery of training a house dog into a gem of a water dog, and never ending pursuit of material that could be potentially damaging to my reputation as a beacon of greatness in the duck hunting world. With that said, let me begin the tale of how two men of different and similar directions maximum the opportunities while attempting to minimize the damage.

Part One: You are a DUCK WAD!!!

Duck Wad (n): a fellow duck hunter and friend who relishes the opportunity to mess with other members of his triad...

I should have known better, but I was sort of excited. After constantly checking the U.S. Post Office confirmation number from Cabelas, my voyage to central Maine included a brand new set of super waders with more gadgets than the Batman’s belt. They had been received at my post office at 8:38 and the box rested unopened in the passenger’s seat. They would be opened at Steve’s house, there would be no time to complete the official fitting for this technological weapon of duck warfare. Leak or no leak, I would be putting the test directly in the field, or lake if you will.

After 2:45 minutes of driving, I ripped into Steve’s driveway anticipating some sort of welcoming committee. Last year I was met with excitement from all family members as the Duckman had made a most surprising visit, however my hopes and dreams of appreciation were incinerated with a silent and lackluster reception. As I neared the basement door of my buddy’s abode completely decked out in some super cool waterfowling apparel, I thought maybe Steve was frantically working to finish some very important details to speed our departure to our campsite. After standing by the door for what seemed to be at least fifteen minutes, I happened to notice someone meandering down the steps and approach the door in just a set of thermal underwear. It would seem as if someone was running a bit behind. Needless to say, the grandeur of my arrival was more like the reception of some Jehovah Witnesses ready to talk about God. Rather than holding a bible, there I stood with my package that beneath the plastic shipping wrap was a set of waders that would set me light years ahead of my clan in terms of duck hunting fashion. Steve took the box and invited me in, I told him to get started on opening the package as I had to find the restroom. After doing my business, aggravating his wife & kids, and shuttling down the steps, there stood Steve looking honestly stumped at a pair of waders that were a tad earthern and only 600 grams of insulation. His only comment was, “dude, I think they made a mistake or someone made a rip-off return”. My heart sunk seriously, all the excitement I had since my order on Monday to the official delivery on Thursday had deflated like a balloon pricked by a needle.
Then he smiled and handed me the unwrapped but unopen box of waders. I had been had, fallen prey to the self-righteous comic of pain and suffering. My response was bitter-sweet as I got a tickle out of Steve’s quick thinking but knew this was only the beginning of a camping trip full of predatory follies. At this point, I informed my great friend that he was a “Duck Wad” which is every bit as insulting as one could imagine. The waders got a quick fitting and I walked out the door while the Maine Outdoorsman maintained a grin that reeked of bathroom demise.

We got the remainder of the gear into the back of the truck and rolled down the driveway to the landing just down the road...

Next entry- Chili Con Carnage...