In Search of Ducks

Two days of company training in Memphis. Four hours northwest of Birmingham puts you smack in the middle of what is known as the Mississippi Flyway. Millions of migratory fowl make their way south each winter along the flyway pushing farther south to stay in front of the ice. My plan was to merge my travel with theirs. Once the training session wrapped up on Friday afternoon I would head south to an unidentified location along the border between Arkansas and Louisiana and meet up with friends that have a duck camp in the area. A week prior to departure the plan seemed perfect, a logical extension of business travel into duck hunting mecca. It was cold, freezing cold as a matter of fact. The blinds were iced in solid. It re-froze as fast as the guys could break it up. Ducks were pushing south fast under grey skies in front of a bitter north wind.

That was last week. Now I’m in Memphis, the Yukon loaded with duck gear, sitting in a hotel room with the air conditioner going strong. It was over seventy degrees this afternoon. Scouting reports have it that the birds which fled south are all hanging out down near the beach and the ones that were behind them stopped far to the north as soon as the front pushed through.

“We haven’t seen any ducks in over a week. If you come, bring mosquito repellent.”

I think I’ll be heading home tomorrow. Better save the points to burn when conditions are more favorable.