Duck Hunt

As of last week, I am a hunter. Actually, I am not. I have gone duck hunting twice thus far, and have the day off today and plan on going this afternoon. Duck hunting for me involves canoeing down a lazy river while Case looks for ducks, or walking in the most pristine rivers and woods of Maine.

The first hunt was along the Royal River in North Yarmouth. Case, Folsom, and I set out in a rickety canoe that Casey found abandoned and almost drowned recovering it. We met a beaver who display his power and aggression by slapping his tail in the water and running away like a pansy. The sun set before we ever saw a duck, but we got to witness dusk on the water and a slightly scary docking in the dark.

My second hunt was on foot in Windham/Gorham area along the Presumpscot River. We passed along little paths leading to obvious summer ragers. The remains of many a bonfire and drunken summer night reminded me of the changing season. Although I was bundled and dressed for "the hunt," I could feel cold air sneaking up under my clothing and the chill on my face. Once again, we did not see a duck, and we did not shoot. My favorite spot of this hunt was an old bridge. It is the oldest bridge in Old Falmouth (which is now Windham, Gorham, and most towns in Cumberland County). The covered wooden bridge across the river has not seemed to change at all. While walking across it, I felt like I could be back in 1843.

In conclusion, I am a hunter if it means I get to explore the outdoors and see life and beauty with Casey's company. I am sure that today Casey will actually shoot a duck, and I will be slightly scarred, but for now, I am enjoying the experience.