Blind Hunter’s First Duck Hunt
I had never thought much about this before, but Carey was right, there are a lot of sounds to experience on a duck hunt. It’s an auditory kaleidoscope that begins when the alarm goes off and ends with the truck doors closing after it’s over, a real festival for the ears.
I’d experienced all these sounds, lots of times over the years, but I’d never paid them so much attention to them until I met Carey McWilliams.
It was just an ordinary uneventful day when I got my first email from Carey. He told me he lived in North Dakota and he wanted to try duck hunting. ‘No big deal,’ I thought. ‘I get emails like this all the time.’ It was the next sentence that made all the difference… Carey said he was blind. Uhhh… what? Big deal!
I said yes before I even knew how we might do it. All I knew is that if he was willing, I didn’t know how but we’d make it happen. I told Carey the same thing I tell everybody who wants to come hunt with me: “All you gotta to do is show up.”
Later that night, when I had time to read his entire message, I found out what a rare opportunity had just showed up in my inbox, one that would change all our lives forever.
Carey coming gave me a chance to make history. Not only would he be our first blind hunter, this was going to be the first documented duck hunt for a “non-seeing” person that I’d ever heard of.
For years, I’d thought a lot about how you might wing-shoot without being able to see. I’d been wanting to take on that challenge for a long time. Well, Carey gave me the opportunity. He made it easy for me too because I found out he’d hunted pheasants before and shot them by following their noisy, straight-line flights. He said he shot them based solely on sound. “Duck hunting won’t be anything like that,” I told him, but I felt good about Carey having some shotgun experience already.
At the time, Carey was the only blind person in the world to pass the requirements for a concealed carry permit. What he didn’t have, however, was much knowledge about hunting. He was new to hunting, but I had a suspicious feeling we were gonna be successful.
Carey landed in Houston a few days before the hunt so we’d have some time to practice shooting. My friend Reid was going to be Carey’s guide. We planned for him sitting behind Carey in the field to help him with the swinging of the gun and telling him when to shoot. We spent most of Thursday afternoon practicing this technique for the weekend.
[For the second year in a row, my friend Jen Armstrong came to photograph the hunt for us. The photos here are hers and I think she did some incredible work. Please go by her blog at Jen Armstrong Photography (https://www.jenarmstrongphotography.com/) and let her know what you think of them. This is the story of our special event through her eyes and Carey’s ears.]
September 24th, 2011, sometime before sunrise… “You know what guys…? Duck hunting is noisy!” Carey affirmed. “The sloshing around the pond when y’all put out decoys, the unloading of gear and last minutes ideas about where to set up, frogs croaking and crickets chirping their last notes before sunrise, loading shells into the guns and clanging the action shut, squeaky teal calls coming from somewhere in the distance, ducks buzzing by overhead, and finally the excited whisper that I’d been waiting for all morning… ‘It’s time!’”
“I felt the cool ground fog against my face as the humid breeze carried it away. The aroma of flooded ricefield filled my nose as it mixed with the dusty pasture behind us. I heard a rush of wings go by, and Reid told me it was a flock of teal as it banked around to come in from my left. I listened to my guide and felt his hands on my left shoulder and right elbow as I raised to fire,” Carey recounted. “‘Now!’ Reid barked. Shotguns blasted! And a duck crumpled and fell back to the water with a splash. Chad’s dog Tilly tore away through the water, leaving an auditory trail with every bound. When she came back, she had the duck. It wasn’t mine but I was still pretty excited, and when she shook off water went flying! She was panting hard after her first run of the morning. Even the low hum of mosquitoes seemed a little bit charming to me.”
“The types of things a blind hunter experiences in the field can be a lot different than for sighted hunters,” Carey continued. “A sighted hunter can see when the game shows up. He can appreciate the scenery. A blind hunter listens to the smallest changes in sound. The wind can cover up the approach of game too sometimes, but as I said before, when ducks go by overhead they hiss like bicycle tires losing air. There’s no mistaking it.”
“In between our close encounters with teal I smelled the gun oil from my barrel, and the damp odors from the water rose up from my feet until I wished for a clean breath of air to give me a break from its pungency. There were voices from my new hunting friends nearby, and Reid described to me as much as he could about what was happening,” Carey said. “I was having an absolute ball! But nothing could distract me from that growing pain in my butt from the bucket I’d been sitting on waiting for the next group of teal to appear.”
“In the distance, there was a burping of gunfire that sounded like a little war is starting up. I could suddenly feel my heartbeat in my ears again as ducks passed by on the wing. Ground animals are easy to zero in on when they approach, but with waterfowl, I fight to follow their trail across the sky. I hoped Reid could keep up this time. I hoped he was a good shot too because I didn’t come here to just pull the trigger. I came to kill some ducks! Reid whispered hurriedly as another flock approached, setting their wings to land. He said those magical words again that I was really beginning to enjoy… ‘They’re coming!’ With slightest pressure of his hands, I clicked off the safety and shouldered my gun. We swung together in unison like an old married couple dancing. “’Now!’ he said. I squeezed the trigger and the gun kicked against me, and I heard a rattling splat of shot against the grass and water. We keep swinging up and I fired again, trying to catch up to the escaping birds. After the blast settled I heard the splash! Did I get a duck? ‘Yessir!’ People around me cheered as my first bird came down, and Chad’s dog took off into the water after it. With a rush, she loped through the pond, getting quieter as I listened and waited. The churning sounds got louder as she returned, panting excitedly and slinging water everywhere. In my open palms Reid dropped a still warm, still twitching, bundle of soft feathers and warm wet body – a green-winged teal. With my hands I explored my very first duck, noticing the size and texture of the feathers, starting at the beak and ending with the feet. My fingers were sticky from the bird’s blood, which always had a distinct feel to me. I felt sad and exhilarated all at once, and was contented. I was a duck hunter now.”
Later that morning, three blue-wings came in and banked high and away on Carey’s side, too far for me to venture a shot. But not Carey, he shot and made a legit 40 yard shot on a flaring duck. I’d love to give Reid some credit, but I’ve seen him shoot, and frankly, he’s not that good a shot. It was one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen.
“When the morning hunt was over, I unloaded my gun, picked up my gear like everybody else and I felt the warm sun on my face as I walked back to the truck. The smell of the day had completely changed since we had arrived. I’m exhausted, but more than ready to do it all again.” – Carey McWilliams
We didn’t have that many flocks come in, but I’m quite certain that my new hunting friend could’ve filled his limit had there been more birds.
The following morning, we moved to a flooded ricefield nearby where there were more ducks working. Carey shot more teal on the wing, a testament to his determination and love of the outdoors. How many of us being blind would fly across the country by theirself to a place where they didn’t know anyone in order to try something that they’ve never done before?
As I finished writing this story, Carey was already on another hunt somewhere in the Midwest, for deer. I hoped that our time together meant as much to him as it did to me, and I hope to see him again in the field someday.
