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REELFOOT’S MAGNETISM HAS STRONG PULL ON OUTDOORSMEN
By Steve McCadams
Late fall and early winter seems to lure folks from all around the
country to Reelfoot Lake. Camouflage is standard attire as sportsmen
flock here to experience the annual migration of waterfowl and share
sunrises.
At the break of day hundreds of decoys dance as though a feeding frenzy
was taking place. These plastic Judas ducks take on quite a display,
mimicking a raft waterfowl that appear to have found a comfort zone. At
times they’re irresistible; other times ducks dodge them and shy away in
disrespect.
Coaxing the skittish waterfowl down from high skies has long been a
challenge for duck hunters here. A rich tradition of calling by old
guides and callmakers still exists today, engrained in the geographic
area’s history as a waterfowl wonderland.
Generations ago old timers push-poled their way across the stump
infested backwaters, scooting over snags and stumps enroute to a secret
duck hole hidden behind tall grassbeds that formed a jungle, fenced
securely by endless towering bald cypress.
As we rapidly boated across open water in our predawn excursion, weaving
a marked boat trail through this moss and lily pad infested natural area
I sort of slipped back in time to another era of Reelfooters who toughed
it out here in bygone days.
Names like Sling-Shot Charlie, Son Cochran, Johnnie Marsh, Marvin Hayes,
Glynn Scobey, Earl Dennison, Jamie Hamilton, The Hogg brothers, Sharpie
Shaw, George Bunch, etc….the list goes on as do the stories and folklore
of this majestic place named Reelfoot Lake.
Generations ago a family by the name of Calhoun pioneered what later
became known as the Reelfoot Lake boat, a handmade canoe type work of
art that saw this cypress carved creation help anglers and hunters
better navigate the shallow muck and snag infested waters.
He later added small air-cooled engines on a direct drive shaft that had
a unique rudder assembly that slowly pushed the boats allowing the
operator to maneuver over stumps, logs, moss beds and endless lily pad
fields where in the past only rowing and push-poling got you there.
To this day the sound of a Reelfoot Lake boat puttering along in the
distance from the small thrust of a Briggs and Stratton or Kohler engine
is unique to the ear. Four-stroke outboards and fancy aluminum rigs have
pushed the simple little boats of yesteryear to a bygone era. The once
staple rig at Reelfoot is now a dinosaur.
A bump from a huge cypress tree as our big jon boat slides by wakes me
up from my daze and reminiscent visit to historical hunts and fishing
trips of legends come and gone.
It’s the second day of a two-day duck hunt out of the famous Bluebank
Resort and pal and seasoned guide Billy Blakely cuts a sharpe corner
around age old trees that are the face of this aquatic Mecca. It’s
easy---at least for me---to fall prey to the historical spell cast by
this little piece of heaven on earth.
No traffic jams. No trouble finding a place to park. No waiting in
lines.
Just a camou clad army of waterfowlers slipping through the darkness
anxious to scan the skies for a glimpse of descending ducks. Sharing a
dawn where fish and fowl live in harmony and all seems right with the
world.
Great blue herons squawk displeasure. Disturbance from their sleepy
perch deep in the marsh is as much a part of the dawn as the forthcoming
sunrise.
“Finally got a little wind,” says Blakely as he glances out over his
massive decoy spread that responds to the breeze and takes on natural
movement. “Gotta have the wind or the ducks don’t act right!”
Seems duck hunters from Canada to Louisiana live and die with the wind.
It giveth and it taketh away. Those of us who have decades of sunrises
under our belts know the wind deals the cards; novice hunters are
unaware of its importance and direction.
Motion ducks within the spread bring life to what was a lifeless setting
in this backwater slough. Ripples from a swimming and wobbling decoy;
flappers hovering on poles all about the spread; a trolling motor
submerged thrust current jerking decoys down when activated as though
ducks were scouring the shallow bottom for early morning morsels.
It is quite a spectacle. A monstrosity of a duck blind overlooking a
scene fit for any artist’s brush.
All sorts of gulls and cranes fill the air on their journeys to who
knows where. Then his majesty---a huge mature bald eagle---floats over
the blind and seems to convey a blessing that the big duck hunter in the
sky has granted us another day to marvel over his creation.
Calls pierce the air as small flocks of gadwalls mixed with a ringneck
or two and perhaps a darting teal pass overhead. Distant volleys of
shots indicate ducks are moving. Not many mallards but other species are
filling void.
By now everyone in the blind is up and watching. The warmth and comfort
of a heated kitchen complete with a television, hot coffee bar and
biscuits suddenly plays second fiddle to the show in the sky.
Out of nowhere comes a single gadwall unloading air in rapid descent.
It’s a sound hunters love to hear.
“In the decoys,” barks Billy, a warning to all that trigger time is at
hand. Guns come up quickly and after a short barrage the splash of the
duck signals showtime for Tate, our 5-year old black Labrador and canine
companion for day two.
He’s aggressive and gone, picking up his bounty without hesitation from
a short swim in cold water. Not to worry. About the only member of our
hunting party more excited about the whole ordeal is the dog.
Yesterday the little fellow performed a yeoman’s task, delivering most
of our bounty of twenty-one ducks right to the blind. Today he was back
at it and loving his job, wagging a tail of contentment.
Hunting with a trained retriever adds another dimension to any hunt.
Assistant guide Caleb Dunn had this little web-footed buddy polished by
day to day hunting trips where repetition hones natural skills.
“Crazy gadwalls out over the timber coming hot,” uttered Billy, is a
soft voice so as not to spook the finicky fowl. Soft calls and some
chattering kept their attention as they passed over and checked things
out.
“Let ‘em make one more pass,” he whispered. As they made a wide swing
downwind to head back slips in a pair of mallards down and dirty. They
bank perfectly and ease into range ahead of the coming gadwalls but the
mallards take precedence and down come the orange legged big ducks.
Some mile-high snow geese and speckle bellies bark in the distance as
the morning progressed and a few small flocks of ducks still kept the
enthusiasm level pretty high but after a few hours shooting across the
lake had subsided. Not unusual but tolerated as now the smell of bacon,
sausage and biscuits began to change priorities within the blind.
By noon we had bagged 14 ducks on another nice day as the overall
reports from around the region had indicated slow hunting across most of
west Tennessee as of late. Low water in many bottoms and along the
Mississippi River this year was working to Reelfoot’s advantage.
“We’ve managed to have a pretty good season so far,” commented Billy
when asked how the overall year had gone. “Still a lot of mallards up
north I guess but compared to other areas we’re been fortunate.”
After swapping scores of stories on a wide variety of subjects our
little party with duckdom was about to wind down. It was vintage
Reelfoot; great scenery, good hunting, abundant food, new friends and
tall tales.
The two-day trip passed way too fast. Time flies when you’re having fun
in the great outdoors. A trip to Reelfoot Lake always yields great
times. The ducks are just a bonus to the already breathtaking setting
where nature’s paintbrush has produced yet another powerful portrait.
REELFOOT LAKE RENDEZVOUS WITH DUCKS, EAGLES AND HISTORY
Some things and places never go out of style. Reelfoot Lake’s majestic
shoreline where bald eagles frolic among scattered stands of flooded
bald cypress is one of them.
This aquatic wonderland lures all sorts of shorebirds who walk and swim
over submerged lilies and moss where big bluegill, crappie and bass
thrive.
From the high heavens come scores of waterfowl each winter when the
weather pushes them South to this wildlife wonderland known as
Tennessee’s Everglades.
The earthquake lake has long had the reputation of a great duck hunting
spot as its shallow backwaters offer abundant feeding and roosting areas
to wintering waterfowl. For generations of waterfowl Reelfoot Lake has
been their winter destination.
This week’s cold front found me sharing a sunrise with an old guide
buddy out of Bluebank Resort. With decades under his belt, Billy Blakely
has earned quite a reputation as one of the top guides among the ranks
of history here.
Our waterfowl brigade boated to Blakeley’s duck blind hidden among the
reeds and cypress along one of the lake’s many distant sloughs. It was
indeed an oasis. Tucked away in the dark confines this home away from
home past what seemed like a million and one decoys paving the route.
The yellow brick road lead us to the wizard’s castle but not before
weaving our way past decades old cypress trees whose knotted creations
emerged from the base as only nature could do.
Sharing the boat were several fellow hunters with another huge boat
piloted by assistant guide Caleb Dunn of Henry. Helping him find his way
in the darkness was a loveable black Labrador name Tate. His wagging
tail said it all. Anticipation and excitement. This wasn’t his first
rodeo!
Although I’d shared a fishing boat with Billy in years past it was my
maiden voyage to his monstrosity where a heated blind with a separate
kitchen awaited our arrival. On the wall was a big screen television as
generators brought life to this swamp hotel.
It was quite a place with all the comforts of home only this was better;
in a short spell we’d be calling and shooting ducks from this rural
locale. As daylight slowly chased away the darkness a massive decoy
spread further emerged.
Some 1,800 decoys swayed in the wind throughout the slough that took on
the appearance of a refuge in and of itself. Some black jugs to add bulk
were mixed in with mostly mallard decoys to create an attractive venue
that would later appeal to high ducks.
Winging away on short poles were Mojo motion ducks, flapping their
battery powered wings to lure the attention of weary waterfowl from
afar. Also adding to the parade were swimming decoys and wobbling duck
butts that took on the appearance of feeding waterfowl.
All the motion and swimming ducks added life to a stagnant pothole when
winds didn’t move things around. It was a sight for sore eyes just to be
in the presence of such a spread.
Once things settled down everyone had eyes in the sky. Watching and
listening. Fueled by the forthcoming sunrise everyone was all business.
Ducks were in the air and distant shooting signaled the start to a good
morning.
A rare weather change was underway as north winds were delivering chilly
temps to what had been a mostly mild season thus far.
“Teal coming hot”, said Billy as a greenwing swooped through the dark
decoy spread like a jet fighter that had just dropped its bombs,
thrusting toward high skies on a rapid getaway. “Sucker was too fast. He
was in and out before I could warn y’all.”
Not to worry. In a few short seconds a pair of gadwalls fell in love
with our decoy spread and responded to calling and the lure of the
refuge looking decoy spread. They banked downwind and with cupped wings
came right smack dab in front of the blind.
“Take ‘em”, yelled Billy and most of the hunters did just that. I never
raised my gun as I knew the crew was up to the task. After a volley of
shots the pair of gadwalls splashed front and center. Ole’ Tate was
sitting on go and vaulted into the cold water toward his prey.
He loved it. An aggressive swim weaving in and out of decoys had the dog
living up to his breeding reputation. Both the dog and the hunters were
sharing the moment that makes waterfowlers rise in the wee hours of the
night, leave warm beds to challenge the cold winds and watch ducks
descend from the high heavens.
The scene repeated itself throughout the morning as a few mallards
worked nice like they read the book on proper protocol. Seeing ducks
respond to Billy’s call was well worth the early wake-up call. Caleb and
some of the rest of the hunters from the other end of the blind chimed
in and a sympathy of calls at times seemed to draw the attention of
weary waterfowl.
In the midst of it all flew bald eagles around the slough, often
stopping to perch on a distant snag and monitor the whole ordeal. They
had learned to watch for cripple ducks as a quick opportunity for a
morning morsel.
In-between shots and calling escapades was a barrage of stories swapped
on everything from past hunts to present day duck movement and
population trends.
I dug into some history of the lake and old guides with Billy who began
his career at the ripe old age of 14. As of this season he’d logged 38
years of guiding duck hunters and fishermen at Reelfoot.
The stories we traded could fill many pages and I’ll be doing some of
that in future columns. It’s the people you meet that mesh with the fish
and fowl that formulate an endless memory bank. Some bad; mostly good.
The life of a professional hunting and fishing guide is more demanding
than meets the eye.
Meanwhile, when the duck activity began to subside at midday the smell
of porkchops invaded the blind and when good hunting, new friends, great
food and beautiful scenery combine it makes for a wonderful day in God’s
garden.
As if all this wasn’t enough the icing on the cake in the evenings and
early mornings was the hospitality of Bluebank Resort’s Sportsman’s
Grill where biscuits, bacon, sausage and more started out the morning.
In the evenings hefty helpings of shrimp accented by onion rings, white
beans, country ham and catfish was a supper fit for a king.
Everytime I visit Reelfoot Lake I scold myself for having waited so long
to return and fall under its spell. There’s always something here for
everyone whether the visitor is an angler, hunter, bird watcher or
wildlife enthusiast.
Time may change most things but it hasn’t eroded the appeal of this
wonderland in northwest Tennessee that once visited will have you
returning time and again.
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